


Stars Aligned

by lahdolphin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy Violence, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 154,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: In a land of myth and a time of magic, Iwaizumi sets off to save his king from the madness that has consumed him. If he fails, the realm will fall. And if he prevails, Oikawa may never be the same. (Now with fanart:Prince Oikawa and squire Iwaizumi,Princess Michimiya.)





	1. Hope

Something is amiss, but Iwaizumi does not have the power to change it.

He tried to change things and it landed him in a jail cell deep beneath the castle walls. His cell has cobblestone walls and floors, but that is an illusion. The stones do not hold him. It’s the depths of the mountains that incase him, the dirt harder than rock from the bone-chilling cold. It is miserable, even for an imprisonment. The iron bars facing the hallway smell of rust and decay. There is no fire to warm him, his tunic hangs loose on his shoulders from lack of food, and now his restrains dig into his body, his skin long since rubbed bloody and raw.

There is no way out. There is no hope.

He wonders if Oikawa will visit him when he returns from Karasuno to flaunt his victory. Because it will be a victory. The battle plan concocted by Kuroo and him is vicious, brutal, and foolproof. The only hope for the enemy is that one of their spies hears word that Aobajousai’s army is marching towards their capital. Even then, it may be too late. Karasuno’s army is far weaker and unprepared for an invasion of this size. Their soldiers are spread, their forces weak, their back open.

Karasuno will know it’s too late when the first village within their borders is burned to the ground, Oikawa marching in its wake.

It’s not like him. Oikawa would never do this. At his coronation, he spoke of bringing peace, of continuing his father’s pacifist legacy. Now six months later, he marches into a neighboring kingdom’s borders to kill their leaders? Karasuno is not their enemy nor their ally. They are neutral. There is no reason to attack them.

Iwaizumi hears footsteps before he sees the flicker of a torch. It must be time for his daily serving of gruel and unclean water. Time does not make sense in the cold, dark confines of his cell. He only knows when a day has passed when the guard comes with his meal.

But the steps are not the calm, measured steps of the guard. They’re rushed, hurried, harder and louder than someone walking. Someone is running towards him.

No, not someone. It’s a pair.

Iwaizumi leans away from his wall to see if he can peer down the hall, but can’t move far. His wrists are bound and chained with little room to move. At least they did him the favor of leaving his arms in front of him instead of twisting them behind his back. He can make it to the pile of straw that serves as his bed and the bucket that is his toilet, but can only reach halfway across the cell. The door in the iron bars across from him is within sight but so far out of reach.

He is forced to wait and see if the footsteps approach his cell or another. The cells are full these days, have been since Oikawa went mad after his coronation.

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait long as soon the pair steps into view.

“What are you two doing here?” Iwaizumi demands, furious and confused and elated all at once.

Kindaichi and Kunimi and the other Riders should be with Oikawa as he marches into Karasuno. They should not be here at their own country’s capital, in the jail no less.

“We came to get you, Captain,” Kindaichi says. He bends his head down, his hands fumbling around a ring with dozens of keys, searching through them. “Which one is it?” he asks.

Kunimi pushes at his shoulder, shoves the torch into his hands, and says, “Stand back.”

Iwaizumi moves back on instinct. He knows what happens to people who stand on the wrong side of Kunimi’s spells.

Kunimi mutters in another language, an ancient language, the language of the soil and sea. Air whisps around him and then the door slams open with a startling sound, banging and clanging, the hinges broken beyond repair.

They rush inside his cell, pulling his arms out to examine his chains.

“Can you get him out without cutting off his hands?” Kindaichi asks.

“One way to find out,” Kunimi says.

Seconds later, Iwaizumi is free and he still has his hands. Kunimi tosses him a pair of boots lined with fur and Kindaichi takes off his thick cloak to hand to him. Iwaizumi dawns both without question, eager to be warm for the first time in weeks. Aobajousai is a land of ice and the dark depths of the castle feel colder than the outside air where at least the sun shines.

They roughly drag him to his feet, not caring that he’s been locked up for three weeks now if he’s counted his meals right. His legs ache under his own weight. He doesn’t complain. He runs down the hall and up the steps. At the top is a man with a torch and Iwaizumi halts, but Kindaichi and Kunimi keep going.

“Come on!” Hanamaki calls down, his voice quiet but harsh. “I’ve seen fat old pigs run faster.”

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks when he reaches the top of the stairs.

“We’re rescuing your sorry ass,” Hanamaki says. He shoves a scabbard against his chest. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to check to know it’s his sword. “Now get moving.”

“If they catch you, you’ll be thrown in the cells,” Iwaizumi says, looking between the trio. “Hell, with how Oikawa’s been acting, you’ll be executed!”

“We know,” Kindaichi says.

“We came anyways,” Kunimi adds.

“Aw, how sweet,” Hanamaki says dryly. “Let’s fucking _move_."

Iwaizumi doesn’t know where they’re going. He grew up in this castle, wandering its halls with Oikawa, but Oikawa despised the dungeons. Oikawa only ever came down here to sneak extra food to the prisoners and more often than not, the cells were empty. The late king truly did believe in peace and second chances.

Hanamaki, Kindaichi, and Kunimi take him down a path he’s never seen, the walls narrow and ceiling shallow. They run for ages until they reach a brown wooden door. Hanamaki knocks in a rhythmic pattern and the door opens from the other side—the outside.

They’re in the west forest at a door Iwaizumi has never seen. The other side of the door that faces the forest is covered with vines. The entire side of the castle is covered in the same vines, masking the door, whose iron handle Iwaizumi sees only because the vines have been peeled away.

Once the door is open, Matsukawa returns to a nearby tree to untie the reins of a gorgeous brown horse. How that horse was left behind when Oikawa set off, Iwaizumi doesn’t know. Oikawa took the nearly full might of the army, leaving behind the rest to protect the castle and major forts.

“There’s a pack with a map, enough gold to bribe a small army, and food to last you a few days,” Hanamaki says as he checks that the leather pack is secure. “There’s a royal seal in a hidden pouch if you make it to the capital before Oikawa. Not sure how much good it’d do you, though.”

Kunimi shoves at Iwaizumi, urging him up onto the horse. Iwaizumi puts a foot through one of the loops and pulls himself up to straddle the gorgeous creature. Matsukawa hands him the reins.

“Oikawa took the army and started marching five days ago,” Matsukawa says. “You have to get to Karasuno before they do. Get the royal family out, if you can, or they’re as good as dead.”

“I can’t stop an army by myself,” Iwaizumi says.

“We can’t go with you,” Hanamaki replies. “Oikawa doesn’t know we left. He put us in the rear guard. He’s been worse since you threatened to slice his throat open.”

“Not that we disagree with that, or anything,” Matsukawa adds casually, like they're talking about what meat they prefer for dinner. “He’s been a _little_ moody lately.”

“We need to get back before he notices we’re gone,” Hanamaki finishes.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Iwaizumi asks. “I already tried to stop this and failed. Something’s wrong with him. He’s changed. This isn’t him. He wouldn’t do this.”

“We know,” Matsukawa says solemnly. “And if this was just about Karasuno, I’d let him have his temper tantrum. But he won’t stop at Karasuno. After you were thrown in that cell, Kuroo and he started planning how to cross into Nekoma. They’re going for Nekoma, then Datetech, then Shiratorizawa. Someone has to stop him.”

“If anyone can stop him, it’s you,” Kindaichi says earnestly. “You’re our only hope.”

Iwaizumi stares at them, his Riders, and knows he may never see them again.

“Don’t freeze to death,” Matsukawa cautions.

“And don’t get lost,” Hanamaki says.

“Good luck, Captain,” Kindaichi adds.

“Don’t die,” Kunimi finishes.

Iwaizumi rides.


	2. Ukai Mercenaries

When Iwaizumi sees the fort, he frowns. It looks unused, forgotten. He rode long and hard for this place? He feels like he’s been conned.

Con or not, he knows it’s the place they were looking for. At the base of the hills, just beyond the river, they had stopped by a small village that swore up and down they could find the men they were looking for at this fort. Iwaizumi does not doubt the word of twenty small town farmers, or the word of the dozen or so others that led them to that village in the first place. These people have no reason to lie, even to a stranger.

He does, however, doubt the word that brought them to these men in the first place.

“Are you sure these people can help?” Iwaizumi asks bluntly. He looks up at the cloaked figure sitting on his horse and sees them nod.

“Sir Ukai was a close friend of my father,” they say. “I cannot think of anyone else that could help.”

Iwaizumi sighs, resigned. He doesn’t have any better ideas. He adjusts his grip on the reins and walks up hill, leading the horse and its rider.

At the top of the hill is a small, old military fort where the Ukai Mercenaries have set up camp. The grass has grown wild and the veins of dead vines run along the aged stone walls. Where there were once stone watchtowers, there are piles of rubble. There’s an empty wooden watchtower that appears to be newer tacked on near the front wall of the fort next to the entrance, which doesn’t even have a door. It’s just a large open arch.

He walks through the arch, looking around, ready to fight at the first sign of danger. Inside the outer wall is a large square of grass that’s littered with stray arrows. For how highly his riding campaign talks about these people, he thought for sure he’d see more men sparing. There’s no one. But there are signs that people live here, or at least work here. There’s a pile of chopped wood and an axe buried in a large tree stump, and in the corner of the yard there’s a small stable with five stalls, two of which are occupied by horses.

Though the outer walls and towers are in ruin, the rest of the fort appears intact. There’s a two-story building made of stone with windows and a proper door and everything. It’s a far cry from a large military fort meant to house army soldiers, but it’s impressive given the small village at the river it was meant to protect.   

He stops the horse in the yard and reaches up to help down his companion. It’s different than helping Oikawa dismount. He does not let his hands linger on their waist, nor does he feel their hands linger on his shoulders. There is no quip from Oikawa about how he does not need help, and no smart remark from Iwaizumi how the last time Oikawa dismounted by himself he fell and ate dirt. This is honest assistance, nothing more.

“Keep your cloak up and stay close to me,” Iwaizumi says once their feet are on the ground. He grabs his bag off the back of the horse, securing it across his chest so it can’t be grabbed and taken. “I’ll protect you.”

They nod once more.

They approach the door. He can hear laughter on the other side, all men, all gruff and loud. Iwaizumi aches for the sound of his Riders’ laughter. He can picture the tavern they all visited in Seijoh, the smell of charred boar meat and the taste of cheap watered-down wine that would make Oikawa gag if he ever drank it. He can hear the choir of drunken soldiers singing the song of Aobajousai, of House Oikawa. He wonders if he will ever see that tavern again.

He knocks on the door then quickly lowers his hand to the sword on his hip. The noise quiets and soon after, the door opens.

“Welcome,” a man says with a practiced, friendly smile. “How can we help you?”

“We’re looking for the Ukai Mercenaries,” Iwaizumi says. Over the man’s shoulder, Iwaizumi can see a wooden table and two others. A blond man and one with a dark expression, who Iwaizumi pegs as dangerous. There’s food on the table, meat and greens and bread.

“That’s us,” the man says, moving out of the way. “Come on in. We were just having lunch.”

Inside, Iwaizumi takes note of the wooden staircase leading to the second floor, the back door, and the two open windows large enough for even him to fit through but still don't manage to catch a breeze. There’s a wooden rack of weapons on the wall near the stairs that’s filled with swords, but Iwaizumi is more concerned about the three weapons leaning against the table—two lances and a large battle axe, likely the weapons belonging to the three men. He also notices how all three men look at the sword at Iwaizumi’s hip.

The man who greeted them at the door looks at Iwaizumi’s cloaked companion and gives them an easy smile and a wave. They hesitantly return his smile and wave back before tugging their cloak more tightly across their chest.

 _Good_ , Iwaizumi thinks. _Don’t trust them yet._

“I’m Sawamura,” that friendly man says. “This is Azumane and that’s Ukai.”

“What can we do for ya?” Ukai asks. “We help with anything from heavy lifting around the farm to town bandits.”

Iwaizumi frowns. His companion has noticed as well, stiffening when they say their name, like they realize something is off.

The man calling himself Ukai has slicked back blond hair and tobacco smears on his fingers, but his voice is smooth. He’s either started smoking recently, or he’s too young for the smoke to have reached his lungs. He’s got on a dark green cloak and a brown tunic so Iwaizumi can’t see his forearms. He doesn’t expect to see too many scars. Old soldiers either have many from their countless battles, or few from their skill that let them grow so old.

Ukai is maybe thirty years old, possibly forty if he’s aged well. He is not the friend of his companion’s father.

“You’re too young to be the Ukai from the Ten Year War,” Iwaizumi states.

“My grandfather retired a few years back,” Ukai explains. “He left his mercenaries to me. We’re not as big as we used to be, but we can get any job done just fine. We’re happy the help.”

 _We need the money_ , Iwaizumi hears, though that’s almost always what he hears when he talks to mercenaries.

“Is he nearby?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Sorry,” Ukai says, clearly not sorry at all, like this is a question he’s sick of hearing. “Just me these days.”

“We’re more than capable for whatever job you have,” Sawamura reassures.

“How many men do you have?” Iwaizumi asks curiously. “Or is it just you three?”

“Six including myself and these two. We have more that float in and out as they travel through. I can call them back if the pay is good and time isn’t an issue, or call in free lancers to fill the gaps.”

Iwaizumi considers his options. It doesn’t take long because he doesn’t fucking have any worth considering.

They can leave, keep pushing south until they reach the coast, and blindly search for a boat with a crew they can buy. Or, they can trust the grandson of the person they came to see. A small group isn’t bad. Less mouths running is always a good thing when you’re trying to be discrete.

He looks to his companion. They nod.

“My brother and I need help securing safe passage out of Karasuno,” Iwaizumi says, his eyes back on the mercenaries. “What would that cost us?”

Ukai drums his fingers against the table. “Depends where you’re headed and what kind of trouble you’re looking to avoid.”

Iwaizumi reaches into his bag, takes out a leather pouch with fifty gold coins, and tosses it onto the table. It makes a heavy, dull sound. Ukai eyes him carefully then undoes the string. When he sees the gold, he whistles lowly.

“We’re headed south to Nekoma.”

“You can get to Nekoma through the mountains or by boat,” Sawamura says. “What sort of time frame are you looking at?”

“Whichever is faster.”

“The mountains are a tougher journey,” Ukai says, scratching his jaw before dropping his hand back to the table. “No roads for horses to travel and strange weather. Creatures that you can only defeat with magic, too. Getting a boat will take time, but she’ll travel faster than any man can on foot. A boat will also cost ya more. If you’re looking to be discrete, you’re going to want a private vessel, not a merchant ship. You’ve got to rent her and pay a crew to man her.”

“Can you arrange a boat quickly?” Iwaizumi asks.

“We’ll need a week. We’ve got three more men coming back from a job and I'd need to get in touch with some people to arrange a boat, crew, supplies, papers, things like that. Once the boat is set, we could travel to the port.”

Iwaizumi wants to start traveling before the boat is arranged to keep putting distance between him and the capital, but he knows that isn’t possible. Letters can’t find people on the road and it may save time in the end if they can travel to their destination knowing there is a boat waiting for them, rather than having to travel to another port and trying again. Besides, showing up to a port and flashing around gold is the fastest way to get targeted by bandits and pirates alike.

Maybe these mercenaries know what they’re doing after all.

“It has to be from a port to the south,” Iwaizumi says. “We can’t go north.”

“Miyagi is the largest port in Karasuno,” Ukai says. Iwaizumi doesn’t budge. Ukai sighs. “But there’s some decent ones to the south. That’s doable.”

Iwaizumi tosses another two pouches onto the table. “Get it done.”

Ukai scoops up the pouches, checks what metal they are, then pockets them. “You got a name, stranger?”

“Hayato,” Iwaizumi lies easily, the name familiar to him. “My brother Akira is mute.”

Ukai nods once. Azumane, the man Iwaizumi initially pegged as dangerous from serious look on his face looks closely at Iwaizumi’s companion.

“You’re welcome to stay here, free of charge,” Sawamura says with a friendly smile. “We’ve got a spare room. The inn in the nearby village charges an arm and a leg for rooms because they know most travelers are here for us. You’ll have to help out around the fort to earn your keep, though—cooking, cleaning, that kind of thing.”

“That’s fine. Can you show us the room?”

Sawamura heads towards the stairs. Iwaizumi has his companion walk in front of him, not wanting them out of his sight. Sawamura is talking as they head up the steps, saying something about a garden they keep in the back and the deer they hunt for meat, but his loud voice is not enough to cover up the conversation carried on downstairs.

“Any idea who the girl is?” Azumane asks. “She looks familiar…”

“Not a clue,” Ukai says with a sigh. “Bet it’s some couple. Guy steals his friend’s bride, or something like that. We probably saw her at some village.”

“People with that kind of coin are usually people with their own boat.”

“Maybe they don’t want to be tracked? Who the hell cares if they’re paying upfront.”

Damn. Iwaizumi really thought they could pass her off as his younger brother if they cut her hair short and stuck her in pants. She’s flat enough for it—he didn’t even consider binding her chest—but her face is just too damn feminine, even for a young boy. He got cocky because it’s worked so far. They’ve avoided villages when they could, but when they needed more food than the rabbits Iwaizumi could hunt and ventured into town, no one questioned his companion’s sex.

At least they haven’t recognized her.

Sawamura shows them a small room towards the end of the hall with two windows that overlook the surrounding forest. The walls of the room are stone, but the floor is plain wood with no rug to mute the creaking. There’s a bucket for water, a straw mattress on a wooden frame, and a small chest of drawers.

“It’s summer so it shouldn’t get too cold,” Sawamura says, “but if you need a blanket, let us know and we’ll see what we can find.”

Iwaizumi nods.

“We’ll put your horse in the stable for you,” Sawamura adds. “I bet you’re exhausted from traveling. Take the night off and get some rest. Dinner is at sunset. We’ll work you to the bone tomorrow.” He smiles in jest. 

At Iwaizumi’s side, she smiles and doesn’t tilt her head down quick enough to hide it. She clearly wants to thank Sawamura, but Iwaizumi told her not to speak in front of others or else her voice would give her away. He wonders if there’s any harm in letting her know there is no secret to keep.

He decides not to. She can’t relax. On the off chance someone passes by and sees her…

They need to be cautious. The chances of some farmer recognizing her is unlikely. People in the capital, maybe, but they aren’t a problem anymore. Iwaizumi wonders if any of them go out alive. He doubts it. It had been a massacre.

Sawamura shuts the door behind him. Iwaizumi walks over to the window and looks out. They’re too low and too far inland to see the ocean from any direction so all he sees is a sea of green. He’s never seen so much green in his life.

His home is a land of snow and ice. The border between Aobajousai and Karasuno is more temperate, but the northern lands where the capital Seijoh is located are locked in winter most of the year. There’re a few months of what they call summer when the snow melts, but spring and fall are nonexistent.

When he turns around, her hood is lowered. Even with her hair chopped short and uneven, dirt on her cheek, mud on her boots, and loss in her eyes, she is still beautiful.   

Iwaizumi waits until Sawamura’s footsteps have faded before speaking.

“Get some rest, Princess Michimiya,” he says gruffly, not caring for her position, only using the title as a formality that’s been drilled into him since childhood. “I don’t know how to get you out of helping out around the fort.”

“Thank you, Sir Iwaizumi. You are too kind.”

He’s not kind. He’s desperate.

Desperate to fix this mess Oikawa caused. Desperate for things to go back to normal. Desperate to get him back.

 

* * *

 

The work around the fort is good to keep Iwaizumi’s mind busy. He chops wood in the morning before the sun’s heat sets in, patches the roof with the help of Azumane, and sharpens old swords as best he can.

Michimiya tends to the garden in the back and harvests vegetables for their meals. The man who cares of the small garden, another mercenary named Sugawara, is one of the three out on a job. Michimiya seems to enjoy the work, peeling spuds and rinsing them with water Sawamura helped her fetch from the well, then spending the cool evenings picking wildflowers to liven up the grisly fort.

Iwaizumi tries to keep her in sight, but he trusts the mercenaries well enough. They don’t seem like the type of men to pull back her hood or grab her without permission. Their second day there, Sawamura asks if she is deaf as well, and she shakes her head. They talk to her to as they come across her, pleasantries and warnings that they’re coming up behind her so she doesn’t startle. Sawamura talks to her more than the others, though he doesn’t seem to want a response of any kind. They never once refer to her by the proper gender, or ask who she is, or ask to see her face.

In the time Iwaizumi has been at the fort, he learned the most about Sawamura, who has been with the mercenaries the longest. The man is friendly, but he is also cunning. When he spars with Iwaizumi before dinner, he kicks out his leg to knock Iwaizumi off his feet and is not averse to throwing clumps of grass and dirt he gathered in his fist when knocked down. Sawamura is certainly not a trained soldier, or a knight, but he’s strong.

Then there is Azumane, who is quiet around Iwaizumi and Michimiya, but slightly more talkative with Sawamura and Ukai at meals. He jumps at the smallest of things and the one time Iwaizumi spars with him, his form is stiff at first then become more natural and smooth like muscle memory is taking over. Unlike Sawamura, he is a trained fighter, but his preference for the lance leads Iwaizumi to believe he is a foot soldier and not a knight, who tend to use swords above other weapons.

Iwaizumi learns little about Ukai, but more about his grandfather. Both Sawamura and Azumane were around when Sir Ukai headed the mercenaries. They say he is a ruthless man, but strong. Iwaizumi expects no less of the knight of legend. Even in Aobajousai, every knight knows the name Sir Ukai.

At the end of their third day at the fort, before the sun sets, Iwaizumi spars with Sawamura on the hills while Michimiya peels vegetables in the shade of a nearby tree.

Sawamura wields a large battle axe while Iwaizumi grips the hilt of his sword. Sawamura’s defense is strong and Iwaizumi has to be on the offensive if he wants to land a blow.

So, he charges.

When Sawamura swings his axe up and then down to parry and then counterattack, Iwaizumi jumps back. Sawamura’s swings have power to them, enough for his axe to make a sound as it slices through the air. 

Back on his feet, Iwaizumi moves forward to attack, only to be blocked once more.

Where is his weak point? Iwaizumi thinks, circling him.

Sawamura follows, stance strong but feet quick, his body turning to follow Iwaizumi’s movements. 

Iwaizumi advances. He swings his sword in an upward diagonal against Sawamura’s chest, forcing his axe out and away from the core of his body. With his chest exposed, Iwaizumi pushes his fist and the hilt of his sword against Sawamura’s chest, knocking him off balance.

Iwaizumi kicks his leg out from under him, forcing him down. Sawamura falls to the ground with a huff, laughing when the air is back in his lungs.

“You’re just as good as you were yesterday,” Sawamura says with a grin and a shake of his head. When Iwaizumi holds out his hand, he takes it, rising to his feet. “Gods, you hit heard.”

“I’ll take that as compliment,” Iwaizumi says, grinning.

“A compliment and a complaint. Why are we escorting you again?” Sawamura laughs and rubs at his chest. They hadn’t been wearing armor and nothing had eased that hit. It was practically a punch. “I’m going to clean up before dinner.”

“I’ll stay with my brother,” Iwaizumi says, glancing at Michimiya, who was clearly watching their spar.

Sawamura nods and heads off.

Iwaizumi sits next to her in the shade, bringing up his thin shirt to wipe some of the sweat from his chin. He still hasn’t gotten tired of sitting in the shade and looking at the grassy hills. He’s never seen so many tiny wildflowers and bushes.

“You are a fine knight,” she says when Sawamura is out of earshot. “Are you proficient in other weapons, or do you specialize in the sword?”

“I’m best with swords,” Iwaizumi says, “but I trained with lances and axes, too. I tried archery for a while, but never got the hang of it. Oikawa was better.”

“You speak of your king.” Iwaizumi nods. Michimiya pauses in her work to look at him and say, “Most knights do not forget to add such a title when they speak.”

“You’re asking why I don’t call him King or Sir?”

“I am merely pointing out that it is strange for a knight to be so familiar with a member of the royal family.”

Iwaizumi laughs, a short sound, the first time in weeks. No, not the first time. He laughed when they stopped at a lake to rest on the way to the mercenaries and she slipped in the mud, falling into the waters. A princess looks just as much a commoner when they’re soaked to the bone and covered in dirt. She hadn’t gotten angry at him for laughing, hadn’t even asked for help, pulling herself out of the lake with strength he didn’t know she had.

She’s okay for a princess, he thinks. A little too stiff and flowery when she talks, though.

“It’s a long story,” he says dismissively.

“We have the time,” she replies calmly. “Besides, you tell me your king was not always so cruel, that he was not the type to march into kingdoms and assassinate their leaders in cold blood. Based on what I have seen with my own two eyes, I find this hard to believe. To me, he is a monster. Stories may go a long way in helping to change my mind.”

Iwaizumi looks at her. She has lost so much. She has never once complained. When Iwaizumi grabbed her hair to take a dagger to it, she knocked his hands away and did it herself. She tossed her crown into the mud, chopped off her hair, and mounted his horse to tell him they needn’t rest any longer.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Iwaizumi says honestly.  

“You mentioned archery. Is there a story there?”

Iwaizumi smiles fondly. There are many stories about Oikawa and his bow.

“Traditionally, kings in Aobajousai are trained warriors, but they could never be knights. They had to be rulers and stand above the men they commanded. Since he was a child, Oikawa was trained in every weapon. He was always best with a bow, though. He would compete in an annual archery tournament held at Seijoh. Had every year since his father let him.”

“What events are held?” 

“Accuracy and precision are held together. There’re five targets at different distances and the goal is to hit the center of each one, or at least the same spot every time if you mess up the first one. Then there’s the strength event. They test how many thin sheets of metal your arrow can pierce. The last event’s horseback.”

“Hitting targets while moving?” she guesses.

He nods. “Right before his fifth consecutive victory, he heard rumors that some of the knights were letting him win because they were too afraid to beat the prince. I told him to just stop competing. He refused. He’s stupidly competitive, but he wasn’t going to let people think he won because people let him either. So, he convinced the court physician to lie for him and say he was sick the week of the tournament. He snuck out of the castle in disguise so that he could go and compete. Every year after that, he’s competed in disguise. The people loved it, trying to guess which competitor was their prince.”

“Did he ever win?” Michimiya asks curiously. “After he started wearing a disguise?”

Iwaizumi grins. “Every damn time.”

 

* * *

 

“I look hideous!” Oikawa exclaims, far too excited by the idea. “What do you think?”

Iwaizumi looks him up and down and then says, “I think it’s an improvement,” in a flat tone.

Oikawa gives him a very unamused look. Any other person would be running in fear of the prince’s wrath, but Iwaizumi merely grins as he looks over Oikawa’s annoyingly impressive disguise.

Instead of one of his ornate tunics, he wears one of Iwaizumi’s, which he “would never be caught dead in otherwise, since it’s so plain.” He’s blackened his hair with ash and styled it differently. He’s also rubbed ash around his eyes to give him dark circles that make his eyes look sunken like a dead man’s.

He’s done all that and yet no one will see his face with the atrocious looking helmet he plans to wear, which has a visor he will pull down in front of his face until he is ready to shoot. Oikawa is an excellent mark, but even he cannot win a tournament with vision impaired by a clunky helmet too big for his already fat head. He will raise the visor when he readies his bow.

He even has papers he forged with the crest of a noble family from far in the mountains who never attend so that he can enter the tournament. Only noblemen and royal family are allowed to enter so the forged papers are his ticket into the tournament.

“Here,” Iwaizumi says, handing over a bow and quiver he took from the knights’ armory. Once Oikawa has strapped the quiver and bow to his back, Iwaizumi hands over a leather glove.

Oikawa practically pouts. “You couldn’t get me a thumb ring?”

“You’re the only person I know that uses a thumb ring. Don’t you think that will give it away?”

Oikawa begrudgingly puts on the glove.

The castle is nearly empty except for a few remaining servants that work while the rest of the castle’s residents are out enjoying the tournament. Most of Seijoh is there, people piled in the stands that overlook the oval stretch of dirt used for tournaments of all kinds—archery, swordsmanship, things like that. A large piece of canvas is stretched over wooden rafters covering the entirety of the stadium to prevent snow from piling too high. The king and his daughter sit in thrones in their royal best, pelts tossed over their laps and cups of wine nearby.

Iwaizumi loved watched the tournaments as a child. Knights are expected to compete and Iwaizumi’s father was almost always one of the best, especially at swords and free combat. He would watch his father beat everyone else, completely unstoppable. 

Iwaizumi is now a knight himself and participates in every tournament but the archery tournament. This is the only tournament Oikawa participates in and Iwaizumi helps him prepare instead of competing himself. He doesn’t mind. He’s not particularly good with a bow anyways.

At the edge of the stadium is an entrance for competitors. Squires are making finishing adjustments on their assigned knight’s armor, straightening capes and tightening clasps. The knights and assorted noblemen are laughing amongst themselves, seeming excited to compete. It’s a great honor to win the tournament and by now, they’ll have heard the prince is sick in the castle. They won't have to hold back, if they were before. Anyone could win.

“Good luck,” Iwaizumi grumbles before he must part ways with Oikawa.

Oikawa smiles widely. “I don’t need it, but thanks.”

Iwaizumi laughs.

Oikawa puts on his helmet, completing his disguise, and runs off.

 

* * *

 

When the remaining members of the Ukai Mercenaries arrive, Iwaizumi can’t believe his eyes. The first two men are strangers, one with gray hair even though he’s young and the other with bright red hair like fire. They are both cheery despite what must have been a long journey. The third man, however, bares a familiar scowl and a bow across his back, and stares openly at Iwaizumi.

Sawamura introduces the men as Sugawara, Hinata, and Kageyama.

“This is Hayato and his brother Akira,” Sawamura says, gesturing to Iwaizumi and Michimiya. “We’re going to help them get to Nekoma.”

“Nekoma?” Hinata asks, his eyes lightening up with childlike enthusiasm. “That’s the place with all the mages, right?”

“They’re known for their mages,” Sawamura confirms. Hinata practically squirms with excitement. “We’ll fill you in on the details later, but don’t unpack your things just yet. We should be gone before the week is through.”

The man named Sugawara looks closely at Michimiya, humming in thought, before turning to talk to Azumane and Sawamura.

Hinata turns to Kageyama, who thankfully stops staring. “Have you ever been to Nekoma, Kageyama? I wonder if we’ll get to meet a mage!”

“You’ve met mages before,” Kageyama says irritably.

“I’ve only met Tsukishima and he doesn’t count.”

Kageyama grins wickedly. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“No way!” Hinata says, seeming to panic. “He’s so annoying already. He always says things like, ‘Hinata, don’t touch my books.’ Or, ‘Hinata, stop asking me to set your sword on fire.’” He holds two circles up to his eyes in what might be mock spectacles as he imitates Tsukishima, whoever that is.

“Sugawara uses magic, too,” Kageyama points out.

Sugawara looks over his shoulder when he hears his name and responds like he had been listening to their entire conversation, “Healing magic is different from the elemental magic of mages.”

Iwaizumi waits for Kageyama to say something, but he doesn’t, not in front of the others. It isn’t until that evening, when Sugawara and Michimiya are preparing dinner, that Kageyama approaches Iwaizumi. He taps him on the shoulder and jerks his head to the back door that leads to Sugawara’s garden. Sugawara had been thrilled to learn someone was taking care of it while he was gone, saying it’s usually half-dead by the time he gets back.

Iwaizumi looks at Michimiya, who is finely cutting onions, and then back at Kageyama. He follows him out the back door and down the hill.

“Captain Iwaizumi,” Kageyama says as if he’s confirming his suspicions. His dark eyebrows pinch together in confusion and his sharp eyes search Iwaizumi’s face, like he’s expecting to find something to that does not belong to Iwaizumi and prove him wrong. “You shouldn’t be here. You belong with Prince Oikawa.”

“He’s the king now,” Iwaizumi corrects. A small part of him is still happy that Kageyama is as oblivious to these things as he always was. He’s still the same street rat he met and took under his wing years ago. “And I could say the same for you. What the hell are you doing in Karasuno?”

Kageyama frowns, even more confused than before. “I was told to leave after… y’know...”

Is this kid an idiot? He was told to leave the capital, to leave Seijoh, not the entire kingdom of Aobajousai.

Iwaizumi sighs, exasperated. This is just like Kageyama.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kageyama repeats. “Why aren’t you with _King_ Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi knows he can’t keep the secret for long. Soon word of Miyagi’s demise and the fall of the royal family will reach the rural villages. The entire kingdom will know King Oikawa Tooru of Aobajousai slaughtered their leaders and took the throne. He hopes he can outrun word of mouth and board a ship before these mercenaries catch on to who Michimiya really is.

Until then, he has to choose his words carefully. If he loses the trust of the mercenaries, if they think even for a second he helped Oikawa with this plan, he will lose his passage out of the kingdom. More importantly, Princess Michimiya may lose her passage. He has to escort her to Nekoma, Karasuno’s only ally. From there, he can figure out how to fix this mess.

“Do these people know about where you come from, what you used to do?” Iwaizumi asks instead of answering.

Kageyama scowls. “No,” he grumbles unhappily.

“If you promise not to tell them who I am, I promise that I won’t tell them what you did.” 

Kageyama’s scowl deepens. He’s clearly unhappy about this proposal. “He’s rubbed off on you again. Him and his bad personality.”

“Sounds like we have a deal.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

Iwaizumi’s face falls into a familiar smile. He can’t help but reach out and ruffle Kageyama’s hair, the way he used to whenever Kageyama lifted his helmet to reveal his awful helmet hair. Kageyama waits a moment then swats his hand away, his face red.

“It’s good to see you, I guess,” Kageyama grumbles.

Iwaizumi says, “You too,” and he means it.

Seeing Kageyama reminds him of an older time, a better time, before it all went to hell. What Iwaizumi wouldn’t give to return to those days.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi will never admit that he was unsure of Oikawa’s victory. He wouldn’t deny Oikawa’s skill, but he does know knights hold back when sparing with him, or competing alongside him in the tournament. And knights’ skills are nothing to blink at. They are trained warriors, the best in the kingdom.

But after watching the first two events, Iwaizumi changes his mind. They are not the best in the kingdom, not at archery.

That title goes to Oikawa.

In accuracy and precision, Oikawa places first. He hits the center of every target, even the one that’s in an awkward position. Archers can’t move once they’ve picked where to stand and Oikawa manages to get the one that’s half covered by another target, his arrow flying past its edge to dig into the center of the target behind it.

In strength, he loses only to the strongest of knights. Oikawa is still a teenager, not yet of age, his muscles not as large as the older, more experienced competitors. Some of the knights have been competing in this tournament before he was born. Still, he manages to place third, leaving several pieces of pierced metal in his wake.

In the final test, horseback, Iwaizumi quietly leaves the stands to help Oikawa with his horse. If Oikawa is nervous, he doesn’t let it show, mounting the horse Iwaizumi brought down earlier from the stables. It’s not Oikawa’s usual horse—that creature is far too recognizable with its braided black mane and white body—but it’s a strong stead, good enough for a prince.

“Nervous?” Iwaizumi asks, handing Oikawa the reins, though Oikawa won’t be holding the reins once the horse is sprinting across the length of the stadium where the targets are placed. There’s five in total. Most knights only expect to hit four, the horse moving too fast to redraw their bow for the last. “If you get first, you’ll win automatically.”

“I can’t be nervous, or she’ll sense it,” Oikawa says, stroking the neck of the horse. He smiles as he strokes her mane. "She's gorgeous." 

Iwaizumi huffs in laughter. “Don’t lose.”

“Don’t worry.” Oikawa smiles and leans back, sitting up properly. “For some reason, I feel unstoppable today.”

Iwaizumi gets back to his seat just as the event is starting. No one has managed to hit all five targets dead in the center, but the knight closet to Oikawa in rankings did manage to hit it towards the edge, which is more than most people can manage. The fourth and fifth target are put so close together on purpose. The fifth target really sets people apart from the rest of the competition.

Soon, Oikawa rides out, his helmet on. No one has caught on to his identity yet, but the crowd still cheers for the man that won the first event and placed well in the second.

The crowd is silent as Oikawa’s horse picks up speed. He releases the reins, trusting her to ride straight, and draws his bow.

He hits the first target, then the second and third, all in the center. He redraws his bow, hits the fourth, and the fifth is there before he can even lower his arms.

Iwaizumi watches on the edge of his seat, wondering if Oikawa can redraw his bow quick enough to even attempt to hit the target.

He does.

And he doesn’t just hit it, he hits it dead in the center.

The crowd cheers in victory, knowing Oikawa has won the tournament with that shot, and Oikawa knows it as well. He reaches up and takes off his helmet, hoisting into the air as he cries out in victory, almost loud enough to be heard by the crowd.

Iwaizumi jumps to his feet while others gasp and whisper in hurried voices. Some quickly join Iwaizumi as he shouts, celebrating Oikawa’s victory with him from afar. Iwaizumi has never heard people clap and cheer and shout as loud as they are when they realize their prince has been competing all along. Even the king and Oikawa’s sister are shocked before they begin to laugh together.

Iwaizumi beams with pride as he watches Oikawa ride one more lap around the stadium, his smile brilliant when he sees Iwaizumi in the crowd.

He will never doubt his prince again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was more of a prologue than a real, proper chapter like this one.
> 
> I keep re-writing what I want to say in this note and it all comes down to how excited I am to share this fic because I really am proud of it as a whole and I can't wait to see how people react to some of these plotlines and flashbacks.


	3. Bad Tidings

Preparations for their journey are made swiftly and efficiently. What Iwaizumi once thought was a ragtag group of mercenaries has surprised him. They gather food, barrels of water, and hay for the horses as well as blankets for sleeping. They pack everything into a carriage along with a few spare weapons and two easily collapsible tents in case of rain. Ukai and Sawamura think they will reach the port to the south in four days and that’s if they ride leisurely and stop early.

Iwaizumi can’t wait to be on the move again, to put more distance between them and Oikawa. News of Miyagi’s fall will have started traveling by now. Iwaizumi’s honestly surprised news hasn’t reaches this far south.

Then again, everyone that would know—the people of the villages that were attacked, the people of Miyagi—were all dead. Unless someone escaped, or came across the wreckage, the only way the news would spread would be if Aobajousai soldiers began marching south, or west towards the border with Datetech. Even then, only villages by the main road would know for awhile, and closet village to the fort by the river is still a half a day’s ride from the main road.

Iwaizumi thinks that luck or the gods must be on his side when, the day before they’re set to leave, no news has reached them.

He’ll almost miss the fort.

Almost.

The fort has been filled with noise since Sugawara, Hinata, and Kageyama returned. Hinata and Kageyama are always arguing over the best way to skin a rabbit, or sharpen a sword, or set a hunting trap. If they’re not disagreeing, they’re sparing, or racing down the hill, or something equally childish.

Sugawara is always laughing, a bright presence in the mercenaries. He seems particularly close to Sawamura and Azumane. One night, during dinner, Iwaizumi learns they worked for the mercenaries when Sir Ukai was still in charge. They say he was a demon during sparing practice, but the best fighter they’d ever seen. Ukai doesn’t say much during their stories, chomping on the venison Kageyama managed to hunt earlier that morning.

The mercenaries have so many stories and Michimiya loves to hear them. They can tell, too, by the expression on her face. Sawamura always indulges her, even when Iwaizumi isn’t around. Iwaizumi has seen them fetching water from the well, Sawamura telling her about some bandits or this old lady that needed help on the farm and called them all sugar or sweet pea. Michimiya tries her best not to laugh, but she can’t hide her smile.

That final day before they leave, two men on horses ride into the yard in front of the fort. The men are all on the first floor, Hinata talking to Kageyama as he re-strings his bow while Ukai chats with Sawamura, Sugawara, Azumane, and Iwaizumi about the last details of their travel—the path they will take, the formation they will ride in, the minimum distance traveled before taking breaks. 

All of them look up when the men enter.

“Yamaguchi!” Hinata shouts happily. He glances at the other man and sounds far less happy when he greets, “Tsukishima.”

“Who are they?” Iwaizumi asks tersely.

“Traveling mercenaries that stop by for work whenever they’re in the area,” Sawamura explains. “That’s Tsukishima and that’s Yamaguchi.”

“A client?” the man named Tsukishima asks, looking Iwaizumi over from head to toe then back up again.

“Escort job,” Ukai tells them with a dismissive wave of his hand, like this is a common thing they do. They just might. Some roads are just plagued by bandits, even in peaceful countries like Karasuno. “You two have great timing, as always. We’re leaving tomorrow. I was just about to go and leave a message with the innkeeper in case you guys stopped by.”

“Where are you going?” Tsukishima asks, somewhat urgent.

They know, Iwaizumi realizes, his posture tensing. Tsukishima looks at him with a frown, seeming to notice his shift in posture.

“Nekoma,” Sawamura says, clueless. “Why?”

“Nekoma?” Yamaguchi questions. “Isn’t that Karasuno’s ally to the southweast?”

“Yeah,” Ukai answers. “But why does that matter?”

Tsukishima looks at Iwaizumi then back at Ukai. “Is it just him, or is he with someone else?”

“He’s got a younger brother,” Sugawara says, though Iwaizumi is sure he knows Michimiya is a woman. “They’re upstairs resting in the spare room.”

“When did they get here?” Tsukishima asks suddenly. He points at Iwaizumi to make his meaning clear.

He’s sharp. Damn it all the hell and back. They were so close to avoiding this, too.

“Him and his brother showed up, what, about a week ago?” Ukai says.

Sawamura nods.

“A little over a week ago,” Tsukishima says, staring at Iwaizumi, “Aobajousai took Miyagi and killed the royal family.”

There is a brief second of disbelieving silence then Tsukishima finishes, “Karasuno is under Aobajousai’s control.”

“Fuck me,” Ukai mumbles.

“What?” Hinata shouts. “That can’t be right. We would have heard something about that!”

“Not if the army burned every village between the border and Miyagi,” Tsukishima replies sharply. “The capital is completely destroyed, everything but the castle. Aobajousai soldiers are searching every village they didn’t already burn to the ground.”

“Searching?” Sugawara asks. “That doesn’t make sense. What are they searching for?”

“The king of Aobajousai put the heads of the royal family on spikes to deter anyone wanting to rebel, but they’re missing a head. The princess is missing.”

“Azumane,” Sawamura says, “go get Akira. I think I know why you recognized her.”

Azumane nods and hurries up the stairs.

“Wait, _her_?” Hinata shouts in clear confusion, like his world is being flipped upside down. He spins to Kageyama. “Did you know Akira is a girl? They said she was Hayato’s brother.”

Kageyama looks at to Iwaizumi, his expression dark.

It’s not what you think, Iwaizumi wants to say. Nothing is what you think.

Azumane returns, Michimiya following him down the stairs. Her hood is up. Her hood is always up, just like he instructed her.

The second she steps into the room, Michimiya seems to realize that something is wrong. Everyone is staring at her with different expressions. There are those that are confused, mainly Hinata, and then there are those who are beginning to piece together the lies Iwaizumi has fed them this past week. Tsukishima’s gaze is the coldest and most calculating of all.

Maybe he shouldn’t have lied about her gender. Maybe they should have said they were a runaway couple looking to escape this place to start anew. Maybe they should have just told the truth.

Who the hell knows what they should have done. It doesn’t matter now.

Sawamura approaches her slowly. Michimiya looks to Iwaizumi, who shakes his head. _Don’t fight._

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sawamura reassures her in a gentle tone. She does not look scared, but she is certainly nervous as Sawamura reaches forward and lowers her hood.

“You were once a soldier stationed in Miyagi,” Sawamura says to Azumane, but he does not look away from Michimiya, who returns his gaze with a stubbornness Iwaizumi has come to admire. “You recognized her because you’ve seen her. Isn’t that right, Princess?”

Azumane’s eyes widen in recognition.

“ _Princess_?” Hinata gasps.

“Fuck me!” Ukai curses, louder than before. He turns and stomps towards Iwaizumi, grabbing him by the front of his tunic and slamming him up against the wall. His expression is wild. “You better start explaining why you brought this mess to my men.”

Michimiya puts a hand on Sawamura’s shoulder and gently moves him out of the way. She crosses the room quickly and grabs Ukai by the shoulder, tugging, but she is not match for a grown male mercenary. He does not budge.

“Please do not hurt him,” she says. “Sir Iwaizumi saved me! I told him to bring me here. I knew my father was close friends with Sir Ukai. We came here seeking his help.”

Ukai releases Iwaizumi, but doesn’t step back, keeping Iwaizumi pinned to the wall with the weight of his gaze.

“How?” Azumane asks in disbelief. “Tsukishima says Miyagi was destroyed. How did you get out?”

“He is a knight of Karasuno,” Michimiya lies flawlessly. “During the siege, he realized that Karasuno could not hold off Aobajousai’s army for much longer. He made the decision to try and save my family before the castle was lost completely. He was only able to help me. My father and mother remained. Sir Iwaizumi saved my life.”

Kageyama’s eyes bore deeply into Iwaizumi, searching for the bits of truth in her story.

Iwaizumi wonders if Kageyama is going to call her out. Kageyama was never good with the politics of nobles and royals. He may say something without thinking about what it would mean for Iwaizumi and the princess. Or, maybe he will say something because he’s bitter of the way things ended for him in Aobajousai. Does he hate Iwaizumi enough to call the princess a liar?

For whatever reason, Kageyama remains silent.

“Will you still help us reach Nekoma?” Michimiya asks after a moment of pause.

Ukai turns and looks at her, rubbing the back of his head and muttering for a few seconds before he says, “Yeah. Can’t turn down the princess of the kingdom, can I? My grandfather would kill me.”

Michimiya smiles brightly. She pivots and faces the rest of the mercenaries and says, “I and the people of Karasuno thank you for your assistance.”

“Are you going to be coming with us?” Sugawara asks, looking at Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. “Looks like we may need the extra hands.”

“I don’t want to be chased by Aobajousai soldiers,” Tsukishima says dryly. “So, thanks, but no thanks.”

Yamaguchi gawks at his friend then says, “He’s joking! Of course, we’re coming. Can’t turn down a princess, can we? Besides, Yachi is working at the Grand Port in Nekoma. It’s been ages since we’ve seen her. Who knows? Maybe we’ll run into her.”

Tsukishima scowls down at Yamaguchi. “Do you have a death wish?”

“It’s a _princess_ , Tsuki!”

“It’s because she’s a princess that I don’t want to.”

“I will not force you,” Michimiya says kindly. “I know this is a dangerous job and I would not ask this of anyone. But from what I have seen this past week, you are all capable soldiers and anyone you hire, for any amount of time, must also be capable. I trust you with my life.”

Tsukishima sighs. “I want double our usual fee, Ukai.”

“Consider it done,” Ukai says. “How far south have you seen Aobajousai soldiers?”

“A day behind us, maybe,” Yamaguchi speculates.

“I don’t want to rush preparations just to leave tonight,” Ukai says, scratching his head.

“Why don’t we finish preparing tonight and ride hard tomorrow morning?” Sawamura asks.

Ukai nods. “That’s what I was thinking.”

There are more questions, nearly five one after another from Hinata even though no one has answered the question preceding it. Ukai puts an end to the questions, saying they’ll have plenty of time to talk on the road.

Michimiya goes upstairs, casting a quick glance at Iwaizumi before she does, and he follows. Michimiya walks towards their room at the end of the hall and sits on the bed, her face in her hands. Iwaizumi closes the door behind them.

“You alright?” Iwaizumi asks.

She lifts her head and puts in a practiced smile that he almost believes, if he didn’t spend his life watching Oikawa put on the same smile.

“Of course,” she says.

“Why did you lie about who I am?”

She tilts her head slightly, her expression kind and compassionate. “Did you want them to know? I thought it might make things more difficult for you.”

“It would,” Iwaizumi confirms with a frown. “I just didn’t think you cared. I’m the sworn knight of the man that killed your family.”

“You saved my life,” she says simply. “And you are clearly not your king.”

He looks at her, trying to figure out if she believes that. He thinks she does.

 

* * *

 

By the time Iwaizumi reaches up with the Aobajousai army, Karasuno’s capital city Miyagi is in flames.

Iwaizumi circles around to far side of the citadel where Oikawa’s forces are scarcer. The brunt of the forces is lying siege to the castle in the center of town, trying to break down the main gate. As he rides through the streets, he does not see the bodies of many civilians, and wonders if the city had time to evacuate. From what he knows of the Karasuno royal family and their kindness and generosity, it’s more likely they brought the citizens into the castle to protect them, rather than have them risk running into soldiers.

Aobajousai forces may be focused on the main gate, but Iwaizumi knows castles well. There are always back entrances for servants to sneak in and out unnoticed. Servants aren’t meant to be a bother. They’re a required eyesore for nobility. If Oikawa was in his right mind, he would know that, too. Not because servant entrances can accommodate the full might of Aobajousai’s army, but because it would allow a small unit inside to assassinate the royal family.

Iwaizumi ties his horse to a pole, not wanting her to run away in fright. He rushes towards the castle, head low as he tries to avoid any scouts that have been sent this way. If he’s spotted, the scouts will call for reinforcements, and then the entire citadel will be swamped with enemy soldiers and what little chance he has will disappear.

He avoids the larger entrances until he finds a small wooden door. He breaks door on the back of the castle and finds himself in the kitchen. He runs through the servants’ corridors as fast as he can until he finds stairs leading to the main floor of the castle.

He doesn’t know what room he’s in, but it’s important. Bright orange banners hang from the ceilings. Black crows decorate their center. The colors and symbol of House Michimiya. But he does not have time to admire the decor.

Right on the other side of the door he passes through, there’s a guard.

Lightning quick, Iwaizumi slams the guard against the wall, their sword clattering to the ground. Iwaizumi presses the edge of his own blade against the guard’s neck and braces his forearm across his chest to prevent him from moving. He has his leg shoved between the guard’s to spread his leg and stop him from gaining leverage.

He looks around, sees no other guards in the room, and decides he’s somewhere deeper in the castle. The outer rooms would be more well protected for when Aobajousai breaks through. Because it is not a matter of _if_ , it is a matter of _when_.

“You are going to die tonight,” Iwaizumi tells the guard, who whimpers. “You get to decide how to spend your final hours. I want to help your kingdom. I want to save your royal family. Tell me where they are.”

“You’re—you’re with _them_!” the guard shouts in a panic. “If I tell you where they are, you’ll go and kill ‘em all!

“You are going to die tonight,” Iwaizumi repeats grimly. “Nearly everyone is this castle is going to die. The only ones who won’t will be the royal family because you’re going to tell me where they are and I am going to save them. Am I clear?”

Iwaizumi feels wetness soak onto his leg as the guard’s bladder fails him.

“Where are they?” Iwaizumi asks, moving his sword and stepping back.

“Up—up the—the stairs,” the guard stutters as their knees give out. He nods his head towards another door. “Down the hall to the—to the far right there’s a large wooden door. It’ll be barricaded from the inside.”

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi says. He looks the way he came. “There aren’t soldiers in the servants’ corridors yet. Take as many people as you can, as quickly as you can, and run as fast as you can.”

The guard nods so quickly his helmet nearly comes off.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have time to wait around and see if he runs for himself, or if he goes to get others. It’s none of his business. They likely won’t make it far, not when there are soldiers on horseback chasing them, but it’s worth fighting for.

Iwaizumi follows the guard’s instructions, taking the steps two at a time and sprinting down the hallway. Some guards shout at him to stop, but he keeps running and by the time they have their weapons drawn, he is already past them.

The two men standing at the large wooden door are different than the rest of the guards he’s come across so far. They wear orange cloaks with black crows and black gambesons underneath their mail. They must be knights.

“Let me through,” Iwaizumi demands. “Let me help them escape before Aobajousai’s forces surround the castle.”

“And who are you?” one of them asks, weapon drawn without hesitation.

There’s a lance and a sword between them, probably a dagger hidden on each of them as well. They each have metal shields painted with flying crows.  

Iwaizumi readies his blade.

“I want to escort the royal family to safety. You may have sworn to keep them safe, but they are not safe in this castle. You weren’t ready for a siege. King Oikawa and his forces will break through sooner than you think and they torture them before he kills them.”

One of them hesitates, considering this.

The other is older, too conservative, a knight that obeys without question and doesn’t doubt his kingdom’s strength though he should. “No one is allowed through this door.”

Iwaizumi sighs. Looks like they’re doing this the hard way.

The older knight steps forward, his sword ready. Iwaizumi is exhausted from his ride and running through these unfamiliar halls. He’ll have to make this quick, especially if the other steps forward to join the fray.

The knight pushes him back with each attack, no lack of skill on his part.

Iwaizumi grunts with every blow, each striking his sword not his body. He does not have armor. Any cut could end this fight. 

With the next attack, Iwaizumi catches the sword on the downswing, pushing the blade down and away from the top. Before the man can react, Iwaizumi shoves his body against him, knocking him back against the wall.

Iwaizumi retreats, waiting to see if he the knight will get back up and fight.

He does. A good knight always does. 

The man moves forward quickly, charging blindly with rage. 

Iwaizumi ducks under his wide swing and shoves the hilt of his sword into the man’s stomach.

Even with mail and a thick gambeson, the blow is enough to knock the air from his lungs. The moan chokes and curls forward.

Iwaizumi grabs his head, tugs it down, and brings up his knee, smashing the man’s jaw upward.

The knight falls to the floor, unconscious.

Iwaizumi spins his sword into a better grip and faces the remaining knight.

The boy is scared out of his mind. He’s young, probably just knighted. His hands shake as he points the lance at Iwaizumi, his stance a mess from his nerves.

Iwaizumi walks towards him, pushes the lance away with his sword, and steps right up to him without a fight.

“Tell them to open the door,” Iwaizumi says. When the knight does not speak, Iwaizumi gets in his face and roars, “Tell them!”

The knight scrambles and knocks in a rhythmic code. Iwaizumi hears the barricade on the other side lift, wooden planks being pulled out of place. Iwaizumi shoved as the doors and they swing open.

There are more people inside than Iwaizumi expected, huddled in a stone room that looks like a meeting room with the table and chairs pushed towards the door. There are noblemen and women, some of their closest servants, and amongst them, somewhere, is the royal family.

Iwaizumi looks at their heads until he finds three wearing crowns. King, queen, and princess. He thinks that’s all there is.

“King Michimiya?” he asks, panting heavily. He looks at the two women next to him, one much younger than the other, each the image of the other.

“Yes,” the king says, his shoulders back, his eyes forward.

He thinks Iwaizumi is here to kill him and he wants to die honorably.

“I’m the sworn knight of Oikawa Tooru, the man who is invading your castle,” Iwaizumi explains. The queen whimpers and holds her daughter close. “I opposed him because this is madness.”

The king studies him closely. “Why are you here, then?”

“I rode to stop him, but I was too late. His forces have nearly surrounded the city. They’ll be in the castle before dawn breaks. I only have one horse.” He looks between their terrified faces to see if they understand. He can’t tell if they do. “I can’t take more than one of you with me.”

Without hesitation, the queen says, “Take Yui.”

“No!” the princess cries.

“I swear to the gods, I will protect her with my life,” Iwaizumi says, meeting the queen’s eyes. She nods, resolved, proud of her choice and ready for her end. She has more guts than half the guards he’s come across tonight.

“I will not go,” the princess says, shaking her head wildly. “I will not leave you!”

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” her father says. He cradles her face in his hands, tears streaming down her cheeks and tears in his own eyes. “You must escape this place and live. You have so much ahead of you, it would be a crime to end your life here.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t want to pry on such a private conversation, doesn’t want to cut it short either because it’s the last time they’re ever going to see each other alive, but he will if he has to. He is going to save someone today whether they want to be saved or not.

If he doesn’t, he’ll never be able to save Oikawa. 

“Remember that your people love you, but we will always love you more.” Her father kisses her on the cheek, smooths back her hair, and releases her so that her mother can hug her closely. The king looks at Iwaizumi and says, “Remember your word, knight of Aobajousai. The gods will certainly remember.”

Iwaizumi nods and looks at the princess, no older than him, no younger either. She is so afraid.

“We need to go now, Princess.”

He holds out her hand and she takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point in this massive, long story, I want to go into how everyone became a mercenary. I have some of those stories already worked in, but not all. We'll see if I actually get them all worked in by the end!


	4. Soil and Sea

Even though Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have joined the mercenaries, the original plan does not change much.

Michimiya will be riding in the back of a horse-drawn wagon with Sugawara, who has agreed to keep her company. The two wake before anyone else and in that time, Sugawara takes a pair of scissors to her hair and fixes the mess she made when she chopped it all off. Now it is more even and shorter than before, cut in a way that makes her face seem more masculine.

Sawamura and Iwaizumi will be the rear guard and Ukai and Azumane will take the front. Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi will ride between the front guard and the wagon, occasionally going off to the sides to check for enemies lying off the main road.

They ride hard before the sun even rises, the fort quickly disappearing into the forest behind them. Iwaizumi won’t miss it. He can’t say the same for the other mercenaries.

He doesn’t know how the others are as focused as they are. Chances are, some of them lost family when Aobajousai invaded, if they’re from the north. Have they just not thought about that? Are they holding on the hope their family escaped? Are they trained to focus on the mission?

Kageyama has no family in Karasuno or Aobajousai, but Iwaizumi knows the others must. Hinata is as smiley as ever, even more so since learning Michimiya is a princess, like that makes this job more valiant in a way. Iwaizumi still doesn’t understand that kid. Sawamura might just be that focused, or maybe he’s just good at hiding things. It’s hard to tell with him, sometimes.

Tsukishima travels with a staff on his back, an elemental magic user, while Yamaguchi has a bow. In total, that gives them two swords, two lances, two bows, an axe, a mage, and a healer. Not exactly a group capable of bringing down an army the size of Aobajousai’s, but they should get the princess safely to Nekoma.

Some of the mercenaries treat her differently now that they know her status. Azumane is stiff around her, unsure how to act; as a soldier he would know, but they aren’t meant to broadcast her status while they travel and he seems unsure how to proceed without being disrespectful. Hinata manages to refer to her as princess, your highness, my lady, and your grace in the same breath before Ukai says they shouldn’t address her like that and Kageyama calls him an idiot. Even Ukai seems to act a bit different, being slightly more polite when he hands her share of bread during their midday break rather than just shoving it in her direction and expecting her to grab it.

The only one that doesn’t treat her any differently is Sawamura. He still expects her to do her share of the work and talks to her. The only difference is now she responds to his stories with encouragement and little bouts of laughter.

They ride as far as they can, pushing their horses then taking an early night, setting up camp an hour before the sunsets. 

How many times has he sat with Oikawa and his Riders around a campsite just like this? Iwaizumi and the Riders were some of the few people Oikawa was not formal around. Iwaizumi can remember the dimples in Oikawa’s cheeks as he laughed loudly at one of Matsukawa’s tales, can remember the first time Kindaichi said Oikawa’s name without a title and Oikawa just smiled warmly, can remember the pelts he shared with Oikawa, the furs already heated by his prince’s body because he retired to their tent earlier.

Remembering such things is a dangerous line of thinking. His Riders may be dead. Oikawa is not the same. Nothing may ever be the same again.

All he can do now is focus on the present.

And in the present, while Sawamura shows Michimiya how to set up a campfire with the wood they brought from the fort, Hinata and Kageyama bicker about who can catch the most rabbits.

“They do this even when working?” Iwaizumi asks in disbelief.

Tsukishima scowls. “They’re always fighting. It’s all they’re good at.”

Yamaguchi snickers.

Kageyama whirls towards Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Iwaizumi and points at Hinata. “Tell him I could catch more rabbits with my bow than he could with his sword!”

“Neither are good for hunting rabbits,” Iwaizumi says with a frown. Did Kageyama learn nothing about hunting from him? “You want snares.”

“But if you didn’t _have_ snares,” Hinata says, “what weapon would be best?”

“I think it would be harder to sneak up on a rabbit with a sword than it would be to sit in a tree and shoot at them,” Yamaguchi says.

“Don’t humor them,” Tsukishima mutters.

Kageyama grins triumphantly.

“Then what about bigger game?” Hinata asks. “Bows can’t take down boars—only spears and swords can do that.”

“Bows can take down almost anything with good aim,” Iwaizumi argues. “Even a bear.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow skeptically. “A bear? Who hunts bears?”

Kageyama is quiet, looking at Iwaizumi, who is certain Kageyama is remembering a certain pelt in a castle far to the north.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi is a nobleman by birth and his father taught him how to act around royalty and how royalty will act around him. It isn’t until he becomes a squire and moves into the castle and begins to spend more time with the prince that he understands how many rules his father left out.

There’s a lot of silly things, like how when the king is done eating, everyone else is done as well, but you’re still not allowed to eat too quickly because that’s a sign of a commoner. You must never walk in front of the king or prince, even if they are in a hallway and you cannot pass without walking in front of them. A prince must always accept a gift graciously. A prince must never lower his head, his chin always parallel to the ground when walking, and he must never bow to anyone but the king. A prince should never laugh, always smile, but a rule that’s broken around the castle and even more frequently in private. Iwaizumi has even heard the king laugh before around his son.   

Then there are rules that make sense. Like how Oikawa must spend hours each day in lessons to learn about the history of the kingdoms and their noble families, tactics for battles in all terrains, and skills of all kinds, from dancing and courting a noblewoman to astronomy and languages. He must be a warrior, proficient in any weapon of his choice, though the royal family tends to favor bows for their use in hunting. He can never become a knight, though, because then he would be their equal and he must be their leader.

Hunting is one of the ways a male member of the royal family can show their prowess and practice their leadership skill in times of peace. By the age of fourteen, Oikawa has observed countless of his father’s hunts and has been taught by a senior knight how walk through the forest undetected. Today, for the first time, Oikawa is leading a hunt. He is to bring back his largest kill so that the pelt can be hung in the banquet hall in accordance with tradition.

Iwaizumi walks through the forest alongside Oikawa, who holds his bow at his side, a full quiver on his back. Some of knights have joined them, walking with spears to throw, a few with crossbows, while the squires carry extra weapons and rustle the bushes with sticks to make noise and scare the deer. As a squire, Iwaizumi should be joining them, but Oikawa said Iwaizumi would walk alongside him and no one would question their prince on the matter.

It's the ending month of summer and deer should be plentiful as the weather turns colder, yet they haven’t seen any. Iwaizumi wonders if the knights hunted the forest too hard this year. He’d been forced to beat sticks into bushes on nearly three dozen hunts this summer, each bringing back three or four deer for the kitchens, an elk as well from time to time. The forests are not endless, nor are the animals.

Iwaizumi is looking in the distance for movement when Oikawa’s arm shoots out and stops him. Iwaizumi frowns then follows Oikawa’s eyes down to a large pile of feces right in front of him.

“Gross,” Iwaizumi says, stepping around it.

Oikawa does not walk away immediately, looking down at the pile. And if that isn’t a sight. The crown prince looking at shit.

“Too large to be a deer,” Oikawa says, not sounding grossed out at all, but his nose crinkles up at the smell. It’s still fresh, steam rising from it.

“A boar?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Those light colors are the pits of summer berries. Boars have a plant-based diet but I’ve noticed they prefer roots and fungi to berries. Do you know what fungi are?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Hesitantly, Iwaizumi guesses, “Mushrooms, right?”

Oikawa nods.

“What do you think it is, if it isn’t a boar? Elk?”

“Elk leave pellets. And those are not pellets.”

Oikawa looks around, studying the landscape, his eyes spotting several broken saplings and tracks in the mud. Oikawa walks over and crouches down, eyes flicking down to study the tracks.

Iwaizumi has never been on a hunt where he’s seen prints like that. They’re massive with five stubs and a big paw. Oikawa’s right. It’s not a deer, or an elk.

Oikawa raises his hand suddenly and everyone stops without a word.

“To the caves,” Oikawa orders, his voice smooth and strong.

No one says a word as they turn east and march towards the mountain caves, following the prints in the mud and broken saplings.

Iwaizumi adjusts his grip on his spear so that it will be easy to rise and throw, should need be. He will not let Oikawa be hurt during this trip, or any other. He would rather throw himself in front of a creature like his father had for the king.

“What do you think we’re tracking, My Lord?” a senior knight asks curiously. He’s the one that trained Oikawa to hunt, Iwaizumi thinks. His name Mizoguchi.

“A creature even my father never bested,” Oikawa replies, his grip tight on his bow from excitement.

Iwaizumi mentally goes through the pelts in the banquet hall that belong to the king—a snow leopard, a quick footed lynx, two wolves, and that damn boar. There are several smaller ones elsewhere, mostly foxes that were particularly gorgeous, but they are not prize trophies shown to guests. Only the best kills are hung and bragged about.

“Are you certain you want to track this beast?” Sir Mizoguchi asks cautiously. He clearly knows what Oikawa is hunting, but Iwaizumi still doesn’t. “It’s a difficult prize even for a skilled hunter. No one will think less of you.”

Oikawa looks over at the knight, no malice on his face, though plenty of stubbornness. “I will accept no less than its life before I return to the castle.”

Sir Mizoguchi smiles proudly. “Yes, My Lord.”

The forest floor crunches gently beneath their feet as they make their way to the caves. The caves are buried into the sides of the mountains, easily passed by if you don’t know what you’re looking for. Long ago, the royal family sought to make them into tunnels, but never finished, leaving nature to take over. Now any number of beasts could be living in there.

When they approach, Oikawa raises his hand, signaling them to stop and go silent. He crouches in the bushes, watching, peering into the darkness of the cave.

The creature comes charging out of the caves suddenly, growling deep and loud.

“Bear!” Sir Mizoguchi shouts, alerting the others, though the beast is damn hard to miss. It’s large, not quite fully grown, but not a child either.

The black bear rears back on its legs and growls, its teeth yellow and large like fangs. Iwaizumi has only seen them from a distance. No hunt he’s ever been on has searched for such a creature. They’re too dangerous, meant to be avoided at all costs.

Several of the younger squires who have never seen a bear before step back, the need to be strong and brave winning over the instinctual fear to run. The senior knights load their crossbows and ready their spears, waiting for Oikawa’s orders. They remain still. Oikawa is the only one that moves, crouched low to the ground and bow drawn. He moves to the side, not making a sound as he moves, silent as the air. 

He's trying to get a better profile so he can hit its head, Iwaizumi realizes, slowly following his prince. He too was taught by Mizoguchi how to glide silently. 

Though they don’t make a sound, the bear sees their movement and charges.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa jump to opposite sides as the bear attacks. Iwaizumi dives, three knights coming to protect him as he regains his footing, while Oikawa rolls flawlessly into a kneel, bow still drawn and aimed at the bear.

He lets his arrow fly.

It buries shallowly into the bear’s neck, seeming only to anger it more. The knights around Iwaizumi draw back their spears, but Sir Mizoguchi shouts, “Do not kill it! This creature belongs to the prince.”

The knights shift, agitated as the bear’s head moves about. Whether it’s trying to dislodge the arrow or seek out its next target is unclear.

The bear runs towards Iwaizumi and the knights, faster than Iwaizumi expected for a creature of that size. It’s on them in seconds. There’s no way to outrun it. Iwaizumi debates climbing the tree, but the beast was taller than any man when it stood on its back legs. Iwaizumi couldn’t get high enough to outrun it.

Iwaizumi and the three knights move out of the way, running in different directions to try and confuse the creature and in hopes it does not follow their path.

The bear slashes at one knight that is not quick enough. It traps him underneath it with a single paw, the knight screaming in fear and pain while the other dirty paw comes down. Its claw rips through his mail and gambeson, but does not seem to tear the flesh underneath.

The knight grips its massive paw by the wrist and tries to move it to no avail. It leans down and bites savagely at the knight’s shoulder, ripping flesh and bone with a sickening crack and a scream from the man. A spear hits the bear's shoulder, but doesn't stick, doesn't dig in, the angle not quite right. The bear's teeth remain deep in the man's flesh, thrashing its head from side to side, ripping the flesh in its mouth. 

Then, Oikawa’s second arrow digs deep into the muscle of its hind. It does no real damage. But it pisses it off enough to release the man to bellow at the tree tops. It turns, sprinting towards Oikawa.

Oikawa stands his ground, bow drawn taught, unwavering.

To Iwaizumi’s left, Sir Mizoguchi shouts, “My Lord!”

“Move, you idiot!” Iwaizumi yells a moment later, charging after the bear, spear at the ready, but he cannot move as quickly as the beast.

Oikawa doesn’t wear the full armor knight’s do. He wears only the pieces that are the lightest—a pauldron on his shoulders, a leather chest guard over his heart, vambraces on his arms, and greaves on his lower legs. He doesn’t have the mail or thick gambeson that poor knight did. He’ll be ripped apart.

The bear moves closer, closer, closer, but Oikawa does not move to dodge or fire his arrow. Soon Iwaizumi cannot see Oikawa, his small figure covered by the bear.

Iwaizumi hears Oikawa’s arrow cut through air and the bear growls and falters, slowing to a stop just feet from Oikawa before it falls to its side with a heavy thud that seems to shake the earth.

When Iwaizumi reaches Oikawa’s side, he sees the arrow sticking out of the bear’s left eye, buried deep inside its skull.

“You killed it,” Iwaizumi says, completely in awe.

Oikawa lowers his bow, his arms shaking slightly, but none of the other knights will notice from so far away. “What were you expecting?”

Iwaizumi laughs.

 

* * *

 

They keep riding hard and reach the port in three days. Aobajousai has some port cities, but most of the trade is carried out on land—long trade routes in and out of the kingdom that take merchants a month or more to travel. Iwaizumi has seen these ports on assignments with the knights, or on the rare occasion Oikawa traveled on behalf of the king. But the ports in Aobajousai fail to compare to the ports of the south.

Here, the people rely on the port and make their livelihoods from the sea. There are fishermen and merchants and travelers, people of all walks of life milling about selling goods and exchanging information. The sun is bright and the salt of the sea is overwhelming in the best of ways. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t think he would mind living in a place like this by the sea. He thinks Oikawa would like it, too.

They sell their horses and wagon, taking only what belongings they can carry in the bags on their backs, and make their way through town towards the docks. Immediately, Iwaizumi hears what he feared the most.

“I heard Himari’s husband was headed up towards Miyagi. Do you think he made it alright?”

“Do ya think the new king’ll increase taxes? I don’t know if I can handle a tax increase...”

“Surely this king will see the money this port pulls in. We’ll be fine, ya here? No need to worry.”

Sawamura and Iwaizumi walk closer to Ukai.

“Damn it all to hell,” Ukai mutters.

“Do you think the captain we arranged will sell her out?” Sawamura asks.

“I doubt he’ll be able to recognize her,” Ukai replies.

For Iwaizumi, who grew up as a noble in the capital city of Seijoh, he always has to remind himself that smaller, outlying cities and villages do not even know the faces of their rulers. As long as they can feed their family, taxes aren’t too high, and they feel safe, people don’t give a damn about who rules them.

But when there’s a new ruler, no one knows what to expect. Will they be cruel? Will they increase taxes? Will they destroy all established villages because they don’t care about ruling the kingdom they conquered, they only care about the power?

If they want to win the favor of the new king, they might sell out their old princess in favor of protection or a monetary payment. A pouch of gold coins means a lot more to a common fisherman than the life of some woman they’ve never met. Money means feeding their families, paying for apothecaries, maybe a new ship if the payment is large enough.

Iwaizumi does not think this makes people evil. He thinks it makes them practical.

Ukai’s eyes are sharp as he looks around, taking in the expression of each person that looks at the mercenaries as they pass, like each one may be an enemy.

“Even if the crew does recognize her, my grandfather left a note saying this captain can be trusted if you pay him enough,” Ukai goes on. “And we’re definitely paying enough.”

“At least we know what his priorities are,” Iwaizumi says.

Sawamura makes a noise in agreement.

It does not take long for them to reach the docks, which stretch along the cost. There are fishermen returning with their evening catches and merchant ships loading large crates of goods up the gangplank. One or two ships fly an orange flag with a black crow and Iwaizumi assumes they’re part of Karasuno’s navy. He wonders what the soldiers onboard will do now that their kingdom is under new command, if they will remove their flags in the next few days or leave them as an act of defiance.

If Oikawa is anything like he was when he threw Iwaizumi into that cell, they will surely be killed for defying him. They will be made into examples. Soon enough, the people of Karasuno will give up hope and accept Oikawa as their ruler, for better or worse. Iwaizumi is certain it will be for the worse. 

“There’s the boat,” Ukai says, pointing.

Iwaizumi does not know much about boats, but it looks good enough. There are no flags, just rolled up off-white sails, and men loading crates up the gangplank, likely the supplies for their journey.

“Um, I think we have an issue,” Azumane says, pointing. “That’s not standard Karasuno armor.”

Walking down the dock is a pair of soldiers with light teal cloaks and polished armor. It’s the armor of regular Aobajousai soldiers minus the metal chest plate, which must be far too hot for the northern soldiers to wear this far south. 

“Aobajousai armor,” Kageyama mutters. No one asks him how he knows this.

“Pale teal is the color of House Oikawa,” Michimiya adds. 

“How did those soldiers even get here?” Hinata asks. “We didn’t see any on the road when we were traveling.”

“Maybe they took a ship from Miyagi and sailed south?” Sugawara suggests.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” Ukai responds roughly. He looks at Michimiya. “Were there any current portraits of you in the castle?”

She thinks for a moment then nods. “Yes. There is a portrait that is two years old.”

“They’ll know what she looks like, then,” Azumane reasons.

Ukai nods grimly. “We can’t let them see her. We need to get to the ship, _now_ , but don’t start rushing. We can’t draw any attention to ourselves.”

“It looks like there’s soldiers checking faces at the dock,” Sugawara says. “We’ll have to sneak around them somehow, or distract them and slip her through.”

“Azumane, you’re the largest,” Ukai says. “Cover her for now. Try to keep her out of sight.”

Michimiya presses close to Azumane’s back, shrinking behind him.

They walk with their heads down and wits about them, and find a section of the dock with less soldiers. There’re still a few soldiers lingering near a pole they have to walk by, but it's better than the mass of soldiers where they were previously. 

They wait and try and walk past when the soldiers are busy checking another group, but they don’t squeeze past in time. The soldiers call for them to stop, and they obey, knowing that running is a sure-fire sign of guilt.

It doesn’t help them, in the end.

One of the soldiers roughly grabs Michimiya by the arm and she grits her teeth as she digs her feet into the ground and tries to tug away. When he pulls down her hood to reveal her face, Iwaizumi has the feeling the soldier is staring through her, not at her. There’s something dead in the man’s eyes, glossed over like a lifeless fish.

“I found the girl from the portrait!” the soldier shouts. “I found Princess Michimiya!”

“Shit,” Ukai curses.

Without even a moment of hesitation, Sawamura draws his axe off his back and swings it down with startling force, cleaving the man’s arm off at the elbow. It takes surprisingly little for a well-sharpened axe wielded by a strong mercenary to slice through the joint where limbs are the most vulnerable. Michimiya gasps in shock as the hand wrapped around her arm releases and falls to the ground. She staggers back, staring at the limb in horror.

Her reaction is appropriate. The soldier’s reaction is not.

He does not scream. He does not even try to stop the blood leaking from the stub of his arm. He stands there, holding his sword in the only hand he has left, his dead eyes trained on Michimiya.

Something is wrong.

Sawamura wraps an arm around Michimiya, holding her close to his chest, his other hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his large double-headed battle axe as the soldier just stares at her. 

The mercenaries form a circle around Sawamura and Michimiya as they watch all nearby Aobajousai soldiers run towards their position.

Azumane takes out his lance and stabs at the soldier who found her and the man is aware enough to parry his lance with his sword.

Ukai hands Sawamura two coin pouches. “Sawamura, get her to the ship. Tell the captain we’re leaving ahead of schedule. If we don’t make it by the time they’re ready to set sail, leave without us. Getting her safely to Nekoma is more important. You stay with her no matter what, ya here?”

“Yes, sir!” Sawamura calls back. He looks down at Michimiya, who is still pressed against him. “Let’s go, Princess.”

Michimiya looks to Iwaizumi, who nods, and she runs with Sawamura towards the ship.

The mercenaries stand in the soldiers’ way of the wooden pier where the ship is docked. If the soldiers want to get to Sawamura and Michimiya, they’ll have to go through the mercenaries first.

“You want to go with them?” Ukai taunts Iwaizumi with a grin as he twirls his lance into a better grip. It’s a flashy move and completely unnecessary, but it shows how comfortable he is with his weapon. He is the grandson of a famous knight; Iwaizumi bets he’s half-decent as well. “We can handle this ourselves just fine, if you want to see her safely aboard.”

“I trust Sawamura,” Iwaizumi says. He’s surprised it’s not a lie.

Out of all these mercenaries, there’s a few he trusts. He trusts Kageyama’s skills in a fight, but does not trust Kageyama himself. He trusts Ukai’s leadership, but he hasn’t seen him fight. He trusts Sawamura’s skill and him as a person enough to see the princess to the ship.

Sawamura will ensure the princess survives this. And if she is alive, Oikawa has not ruined Karasuno and his mistakes can be fixed.

That’s all that matters to Iwaizumi in the end.

The Aobajousai soldiers advance, weapons drawn.

Iwaizumi has never seen the mercenaries in a fight. There’re outnumbered two to one and the enemy is more heavily armored. One of the mercenaries, Sugawara, is a healer. Though Sugawara wields a staff like Tsukishima, healers don’t often know offensive elemental spells.

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, that doesn’t matter.

“We’ve got your back so cast away,” Sugawara says as he approaches Tsukishima, who has his staff out. Mages like Tsukishima can cast powerful magic, but they are often left defenseless when they do.

Iwaizumi wonders how Sugawara, a healer with a staff of his own, will be able to do much other than hit a soldier over the head until he looks over and sees Sugawara dual wielding long iron daggers.

On Tsukishima’s other side, Yamaguchi has drawn his bow and Iwaizumi wonders if he’s even half the mark Kageyama is. Even a quarter will do for Tsukishima to casts his spells without worrying about being attacked.

Hinata draws his sword and Kageyama nocks an arrow, no doubt already aiming for the gaps in the enemies’ armor. Azumane and Ukai both point their lances at the soldiers, prepared.

Iwaizumi draws his sword as the soldiers attack. Some are dead-eyed, others are not. Why? No time to think, to care.

Two come for Iwaizumi, who loses track of the others around him. If he lets his focus slip to them for even a second, it could mean his death. In battle, he only focuses on two things: defeating the enemy in front of him and keeping Oikawa safe. Now that Oikawa is not here, there is only one thing to keep is focus.

The first soldier comes from the left, the second from the right. Both have lances and they aim high on his body.

Iwaizumi ducks down to escape their lances and turns to stab his blade through the exposed, armor-less gut of the second. They should have worn their chest plate, even in this southern heat. They had it for a reason.

Iwaizumi feels the familiar resistance of flesh but only for a second because he pulls his blade out as quickly as he had cut him, his back open in his position. One of the first things Iwaizumi learned as a squire: never leave your back open. Cover it yourself, or rely on a fellow knight.

The soldier falls to his knees as Iwaizumi stands and pushes forward, not wanting to give the lancer any ground.

Iwaizumi slashes his blade out, but the lancer shoves his lance down, the pole of his weapon blocking his blade. Iwaizumi does not relent, pushing faster and harder, the man hardly able to keep up, until he can’t and Iwaizumi slices into his ribs.

He flicks the blood off his sword and looks around.

A gust of unnatural wind pushes back two soldiers charging Tsukishima, who is muttering in another language. As the soldiers stagger back, an arrow digs into one of their chests then the other’s. Yamaguchi isn’t as fast as Kageyama, but he gets the job done.

Ukai and Azumane are handling a swordsman much better than Iwaizumi’s opponent had. While Ukai defends against the quick blows, Azumane lunges forward and pierces the man’s ribs from the side.

Iwaizumi watches as Hinata cuts down a man with his sword only for Kageyama to bury an arrow into his neck for good measure. The two seem to be counting how many they’ve killed because they begin to argue over that last one.

Iwaizumi catches movement in the corner of his eye and whirls around, blade drawn to block the attack of another soldier. Iwaizumi grins when he meets their eyes only for the expression to fall from his face. The man's eyes are glossy. 

Startled only for a second, Iwaizumi seamlessly slides his blade under the man’s defenses, piercing his gut.

He thinks this blow will be all it takes, but the man calmly reaches down and wraps his fingers around the blade. When Iwaizumi tries to tug his sword out, the man’s hand clamps down, halting him.

That shouldn’t be possible. He’s only got on leather gloves. Iwaizumi’s sword should slice through his palm.

He shouldn’t be able to stand there when he’s been dealt a wound like that. It’s not the type of wound to make a man scream out in sudden pain, but it should make him feel something. The initial impact that feels like a punch should be wearing off and transforming into a sharp, hot pain by now.

Iwaizumi roughly pulls his sword back but it does not move. The man’s dead eyes stare at him.

“Wait,” the soldier says slowly, seeming to feel no pain even as Iwaizumi finally jerks his sword back and out, slicing the man’s palm open, “I know you. You’re—”

An arrow hits the guy right between the eyes. Iwaizumi whirls around and sees Kageyama’s bow still raised and aimed towards him.

Iwaizumi turns back to the man, who has fallen, dead, his glossy eyes still open and staring up at him. Iwaizumi shudders just looking at him.

Something is very, very wrong.

“Get to the ship!” Ukai shouts as the enemy’s numbers begin to thin.

Ukai and Azumane remain to hold the line, giving them time to run, before turning and sprinting after them. Kageyama has his bow in front of him, arrow knocked as they turn and run perpendicular to the men, and Iwaizumi has no doubt Kageyama would hit his mark if he wanted to.

When they reach the ship, the sails are down and the anchor drawn. Sawamura is on the deck, shouting at them, Michimiya at his side.

They board with seconds to spare, panting from their fight and sprint up the gangplank.

“Were all the soldiers like the one I cut?” Sawamura asks.

“Only some of them,” Iwaizumi replies. “I don’t know what the hell that was. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s magic,” Tsukishima says, wiping sweat from his brow.

“How do you know for sure?” Hinata asks skeptically.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Their eyes were glassed over. It’s the most basic indication someone is under an enchantment.”

Oikawa can’t use magic, Iwaizumi thinks. Is this Kuroo’s doing? He has more questions than answers.

They set off, what remains of the kingdom of Karasuno shrinking into the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say that Sawamura’s axe is not based in reality. It’s based more on Fire Emblem axes ([see Greil from FE9](http://fireemblem.wikia.com/wiki/Greil)).


	5. Mourning

Sawamura does not like boats.

He’s always lived on land. First on a farm in a small village in the grasslands to the west, then in the fort occupied by the Ukai Mercenaries. Since joining the mercenaries at sixteen, he’s been on boats a few times. Once or twice to escort merchants to Nekoma, a few times from Miyagi to a Karasuno port further south.

Boats just feel unnatural. He doesn’t like the way they rock beneath his feet, or the sound of the waves at night, especially during a storm. He doesn’t get sick, at least, unlike Azumane, but Sawamura thinks that may be front anxiety, not sea sickness. Azumane has a strong aversion to boats and for good reason, unlike Sawamura, who just doesn’t like the way they feel.

It’s Hinata and Kageyama’s first time on a boat and that goes about as well as Sawamura thought it would. Hinata gets restless almost immediately, sparing with anyone that’s unfortunate enough to pass his eye. Kageyama last a few more hours than Hinata before he repeatedly shoots at the mast, his arrows a dull _thunk, thunk, thunk_ as he empties his quiver and goes to pry out his arrows to repeat the process.

“At least they’re not killing each other,” Ukai says with a shrug.

Sawamura kind of agrees.

He tells them not to get carried away anyways. Just in case.

Sugawara is always busy reading, Azumane is constantly ill over one side of the ship or the other, Iwaizumi spends his days in the men’s cabin acting like he isn’t sea sick by moping in his hammock, Hinata is looking for his next opponent, and Kageyama is running out of arrows, and Sawamura just needs one minute by himself. Just one.

So, he goes to the cargo bay only to find he can’t be alone because someone else beat him to it.

“Sorry, Princess,” he says automatically, his voice kind even though he’s irritated.

Not irritated at her but just irritated in general. He wants to swing his axe without Hinata demanding to spar. He wants to carry bags of grain up the hill from the village and feel the stretch in his muscles. He wants to feel solid grass beneath his feet. He wants the boat to stop _rocking_.

Then he stops and actually looks at her. He’s so used to seeing her in common man’s clothes that the sight of her in a tunic, vest, and tan pants isn’t strange. What is strange is the way her knees are curled up against her chest, the way her cheeks are puffy and red, and the way tears and snot run down her face.

Even princesses are ugly when they cry.

“Are you alright?” he asks before leaving.

Michimiya sniffles and quickly dabs her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. Her face is even redder than before.

“Yes, I am fine,” she replies with a forced, perfect smile. “I just needed a moment to myself.”

Sawamura is pretty good at telling when people are lying. He’s got two younger siblings that like to pull pranks, and Kageyama always stays up too late to practice and tries to say he wasn’t, and Hinata is even worse than the archer at lying.

He’s quiet for a few seconds then says, “I’ll go if you want to be alone, but is that what you really want?”

Her lip trembles and divots form in her chin as the tears return to her eyes. She shakes her head. She sobs hard, choking on the sound.

Sawamura closes the door behind him and silently walks across the room to sit down next to her, one leg stretched out and the other bent towards his chest so he can rest his arm on it.

“I don’t have a handkerchief,” he says apologetically.

“It is such an ugly thing, is it not? Crying.”

“Feels better afterwards, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” She sniffles loudly, letting her tears fall freely as she fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “I have not had a chance to mourn them—my parents, or my people. Everything happened so quickly on land. First, Sir Iwaizumi and I were fleeing Miyagi, then we were trying to find Sir Ukai. At the fort, I was so concerned about keeping my secret. But here at sea, there is not much I can do to distract myself.”

Sawamura makes a vague noise of understanding.  “I have two younger siblings, twins. I was six when they were born. My mom bled out after giving birth to them. The midwife couldn’t do anything to help.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Michimiya says automatically, but her sympathy sounds real.

His voice comes out gentle and compassionate. “I wasn’t saying it to get sympathy. I’m trying to tell you that I get it. I mean, I still have my father and the twins, but…” He shrugs again. “If you want an ear to listen, whenever you want, I’m here.”

“Could you tell me about your family instead?” she asks. She sounds both genuinely curious and desperate for a distraction.

“Well, there was my mom, like I said,” he starts off, looking ahead instead of at her, feeling like he’s invading her privacy as she mops up her tears and snot. Tears and snot don’t seem princess-like and she may feel weird being around someone like that. “My dad is a farmer. His dad was a farmer like his dad before him. Real straight-laced kind of guy when it came to work, but real kind, too. Ren and Ran are troublemakers, though. They’ll hang a dead skunk outside your window or throw rotten eggs at your house and laugh while they run away.”

“That sounds like—like an exciting life,” she says with a wet smile.

Sawamura tilts his head back against the wooden hull of the ship.

“It’s probably just a boring, commoner’s life compared to yours. I grew in the grasslands near the Datetech border so even though it was a small village, there were always enough travelers passing by to buy our crops.”

He can still remember the tall fields of corn during the summer, the gorgeous crisp apples in the fall, the short winter wheat, and the sweet, sweet strawberries in spring. He can taste them on his lips, image the juices staining his fingers red. Sugawara grows strawberries sometimes, but not nearly as many as they had at the farm, not enough to fill his stomach. They can’t keep cows or chickens at the fort, either, and there’s no reason for a herding dog, but maybe they could get one of those hunting dogs when they get back. Kageyama and Hinata would like that.

“I thought I was going to spend my whole life there,” he says with a faint smile. “I never wanted anything else. I didn’t _know_ there was anything else.”

“What made you leave?”

“I met Sir Ukai and the mercenaries. They came to the village the same day as some bandits. I’d never seen anyone fight before, let alone a knight of Karasuno. I remember holding the axe we used to cut wood,” he says, holding his hands in front of him in the grip he used, “and waiting for this bandit to charge me so I could swing at him. I had no idea what I was doing. I was shaking like a newborn calf. Then, Sir Ukai came out of nowhere on his horse and cut the man down.”

Sawamura swings his arms like he’s swinging a sword then lowers them back to his lap, smiling wider.

“He saved our village and didn’t even want payment. All he wanted was some food for his men and a place to set up camp. They stayed with us for a while, helping repair the damage from the attack. I would follow them to the tavern at night and listen to them talk about their travels and the battles they’d won. In the stories, the Ukai Mercenaries _always_ won.”

She laughs briefly next to him, smiling as well now.

“I said I wanted to join them, but Sir Ukai told me I was too young, that I should come back when I was older if I was serious. So that’s what I did. Three years later, the day after my sixteenth birthday, I packed my things and made for the same fort we use today. Sir Ukai didn’t stick around for much longer, but he taught me to fight. He was brutal. I honestly thought I was going to die it was so bad.”

“Why did you stay, if it was so hard?”

“Because I went on my first job and I was the one to cut down a bandit and save some kid in some tiny village.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at her, her tears mostly gone and smile wide.

“Thank you for sharing,” she says. “I did not mean the pry.”

“You’re not prying. Besides, now the princess owes me a debt. What’s better than that?”

He grins and she laughs into her hand.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says more seriously. “I’m just glad I could help. I know losing family is hard and if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you. I would like that very much, Sawamura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many people are actually actively reading each chapter as it comes out, but I don't know if I'll be able to follow my weekly update schedule for awhile. Work is just not going well (or life in general tbh) and I'm a bit of a mess to be honest. Writing fics is sort of low on my priority list so this fic has officially reached "I'll update when I can" territory. But don't worry, I still have every desire to finish this fic and have a total of +70k words written that I want to share!


	6. Nekoma

Hinata may or may not be hiding from Kageyama in their cabin when they reach the Grand Port in Nekoma. It’s not his fault, either. It was a real accident, not like all the other times he bothered Kageyama because he was bored and Tsukishima had egged him on with a cruel grin.

This time, on deck, by _complete accident_ , he backed into Kageyama, who was firing his bow at the mast, and Kageyama’s arrow flew and nearly hit Sawamura, who gave Kageyama one of those terrifying smiles and Hinata ran.

So, yes, he’s hiding. Kageyama is worse than Sawamura when he’s mad. Sawamura would never kill him. Hinata doesn’t know if Kageyama has the same restraint.

When he hears the door open, he thinks his time has come. Sawamura is finished with Kageyama, who has now come to end Hinata’s life and bury him at sea so they never find the body.

He curls up in his hammock under his blanket, wishing he could just disappear as someone walks into the room. They begin to check each hammock and Hinata prays it’s not Kageyama because if it is, he’s so dead.

But when they reach Hinata’s hammock and pull back his blanket, they don’t stab him immediately.

“There you are,” Sugawara says warmly and Hinata lets out the biggest sigh of relief. “We’ve reached the Grand Port. You should come up to deck and see the coastline.”

Hinata gets up so quickly that he trips out of his hammock and Sugawara laughs before checking to make sure he’s not actually hurt.

Up on deck, the crew of the boat is working to take them up to a dock at the port. It’s the largest port in the continent and Hinata has never seen a city quite like this.

The buildings with walls made of pale stone and clay that look yellowish in the sun and brilliantly colored roofs—red, blue, green, any color that a roof should not be, a roof is. The buildings go on and on in all directions, halted only by the horizon and the water of the sea. Tall skinny trees with fan-like leaves that Hinata have never seen before line the water’s edge where docks jet out into the ocean, some occupied by ships as large as theirs, others by small vessels, others empty. He thinks he sees people climbing the trees and chopping down large brown things the size of heads.

While the ship’s crew steers the ship into port, the mercenaries head below deck to gather their belongings. They won’t be returning to the ship. Instead, they’ll travel to the capital of Nekoma, a place to the east called Okyo, by land so that Michimiya can talk to its ruler.

Kageyama seems to have forgotten he’s mad at Hinata when they pack their things, which is good, because the city is large enough that Kageyama could hide his body with ease.

The second they step off the gangplank onto the docks, they are surrounded by noises—people, animals, the ocean, the creak of weathered wood. People rush about them and the salt of the ocean is nearly overwhelmed by the scent of the nearby market.

“Sawamura, Iwaizumi, I want you to go and confirm our travel arrangements to Okyo,” Ukai says, handing Sawamura a piece of paper and a coin pouch. “They should be expecting you. I arranged nine horses and a wagon. We’ll spend the night here in Grand Port at an inn called Sleepy Sheep and leave in the morning. Pay a quarter now, promise the rest in morning when we leave.”

“We’ll meet everyone at the inn later, then,” Sawamura says, pocketing the items. He looks at Iwaizumi and grins. “Let’s go.”

The two walk off, Iwaizumi’s hand resting on the hilt of his sword as they disappear into the crowd.

“I need to send a letter to my grandfather in Okyo and then arrange food for our travel,” Ukai says. “Azumane, you’ll join me.”

Azumane nods. “Yes, sir.”

“You mean we’re going to meet Sir Ukai?” Hinata asks excitedly. Sir Ukai trained the Small Giant, Hinata’s hero.

Ukai rubs the back of his head. “I mean, I’m not writing my grandfather so you can meet him. I’m writing him so he can introduce us to Lord Nekomata when we reach Okyo. They’re close friends.”

“Didn’t Sir Ukai travel to Okyo just to spend his retirement with Nekomata?” Tsukishima mumbles so quietly Ukai doesn’t seem to hear.

Yamaguchi shrugs. Hinata doesn’t get his point.

“The rest of you are free to roam the port, but be at the inn an hour before sunset,” Ukai orders. “I’ve heard the nightlife here can get you into some real trouble. This port is a notorious hub for slave traders.”

He looks pointedly at the princess.

“Hood up,” Ukai cautions. “We’re not in any immediate danger like we were in Karasuno, but I still want to pass you off as a boy if we can, just in case. Don’t travel by yourself for whatever reason, especially at night.”

She nods in understanding and draws up her hood.

“Don’t get into any trouble!” Ukai orders as he walks off with Azumane, leaving the rest of them at the dock.

“I want to get something to eat,” Hinata says excitedly. He tugs at Kageyama’s arm. “Let’s go!”

“We need to decide who’s going with her, first,” Tsukishima says, jerking his thumb rudely at the princess, like she’s just some common woman.

“I would like to browse the market,” Michimiya says with her ever-pleasant, kind smile. “I have heard stories of this port since I was a child and never dreamed I would come here myself.”

“I can go with you,” Sugawara offers with an equally kind smile.

The two walk off shoulder to shoulder, talking quietly. Hinata watches jealously.

“When did he get so close to the princess?” Hinata grumbles.

“They rode in that carriage together when we were traveling south,” Yamaguchi says. “And I think he’s been sharing his books with her on the boat so she has something to do.”

“What’s so great about books?” Hinata asks.

“You’re just saying that because you can’t read,” Kageyama replies with a grin.

“Why do you care what she thinks?” Tsukishima asks Hinata condescendingly.

“Because she’s, y’know, the princess!”

He doesn’t think it needs explaining. What warrior doesn’t want the princess to like them? In the stories, the princess always likes the best warriors and that has to be Hinata.

“Quiet down,” Tsukishima chastises with a glare. “Do you want the whole world to know who we’re here for?”

Hinata shifts his jaw. He hates when Tsukishima is right.

The Grand Port market is a lively, beautiful place with stall after stall of goods to buy. The market place is full of colors of all kinds, good smells and bad smells, and there’s more people than Hinata has ever seen in one place in his entire life. There’s one stand that sells shining jewelry, a man stretched out with a rug selling baskets he made, and another selling blankets. Gods, and the _food_. There’re chunks of meat on sticks charred to perfection, live chickens in baskets and fresh eggs and milk, and fruit he has never seen that the seller says are from northern Shiratorizawa.

Kageyama stops at a stand selling thumb rings and tries a few on while Tsukishima talks to a staff salesman and Hinata and Yamaguchi look at tapestries one man is selling. They pick up sticks of boar meat and one of those strange fruits called pomegranates, which Yamaguchi shows Hinata how to eat after he almost bites into one whole because apparently that is _not_ how you eat a pomegranate. You have to cut them open and eat the insides.

They regroup and travel together, stopping when Tsukishima says, “Yamaguchi, isn’t that…?”

“It is!” Yamaguchi says with the brightest smile.

Hinata frowns as Yamaguchi runs over to a girl who’s back is to them. She’s bartering with a fabric salesman and has a huge bag on her back, filled with odd things that poke out of the top. He can see a rolled up rug, a few dangling baskets, and what looks like the end of a sword. He wonders what cool things are inside that bag, too.

“Yachi!” Yamaguchi calls.

The girl turns and Tsukishima walks over almost eagerly.

The girl named Yachi lifts to the soles of her feet and wraps her arm around Tsukishima then Yamaguchi, who tightly hugs her back. She and Yamaguchi sway for a moment, their hug lasting far longer than her hug with Tsukishima, but Hinata doesn’t blame her. Who’d want to hug Tsukishima? No one, that’s who.

When the two break apart, the weirdest thing happens. An owl comes and lands on Yachi’s shoulder and leans forward like it’s examining Yamaguchi with a critical expression. Yachi laughs and scratches under its chin and it calms, rubbing against her hand.

“He’s a friend,” she says to the owl, smiling. Her voice is gentler when she goes on. “A really good friend, actually.”

Yamaguchi turns as red as a pomegranate.

It’s a pretty bird with large yellow eyes, fluffy feathers above its eyes like little horns, and feathers with striations of different colors. Hinata can see white and black, but also some browns.

“You got a pet?” Yamaguchi asks excitedly.

“About a month ago, I found her injured on the side of the road to the north and nursed her back to health,” Yachi explains. “She’s been following me since. I didn’t know what to feed at her at first, so I kept giving her bread, then another merchant told me bread can kill birds, so I tried to make her throw up but she wouldn’t and I thought she was going to die and her long-lost family was going to come and peck my eyes out in revenge _and_ —”

Hinata laughs. “You’re funny!”

Yachi stops her panicked ramble and looks at Hinata and Kageyama, like she’s just noticing them.

“Hi,” she squeaks, holding out her hand. “I’m Yachi. I’m a traveling merchant.”

Hinata shakes her hand; Kageyama doesn’t.

“I’m Hinata. That awkward guy’s Kageyama.”

Kageyama scowls.

“Why do those names sound familiar?” Yachi asks.

“They’re part of the Ukai Mercenaries,” Yamaguchi says. “We’ve worked with them before in Karasuno. We’ve told you about them, probably.”

Yachi nods then gasps. “Karasuno got taken by Aobajosai, right? Is everyone okay?”

Hinata and the others look at each other, unsure what to say. Well, Hinata, Kageyama, and Yamaguchi are unsure.

Tsukishima shrugs and says, “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

“Are your parents okay? They lived in Miyagi, right?” Yamaguchi asks, concerned.

Yachi smiles. “They were in Datetech on business, so they’re fine!”

Yamaguchi lets out a sigh of relief. Tsukishima also seems a little calmer. Hinata wonders how they all know each other.

“Are you seeking refuge here until things calm down?” Yachi asks.

“We’re actually here on a job,” Hinata says. “We’re escorting the—”

“We’re escorting someone to Okyo,” Tsukishima cuts in, elbowing Hinata sharply in the ribs.

Hinata growls. “I wasn’t going to tell her!”

“Tell me what?” Yachi asks suspiciously.

“It’s some noblewoman who’s running from her husband,” Tsukishima lies easily. “She’s escaping to be with her true love, or something equally revolting.”

Yachi sighs. “That’s so sweet!”

The owl on her shoulder hoots in agreement.

“Can you show us around the market?” Yamaguchi asks excitedly. “You always get the best deals.”

Yachi beams. “Leave it to me!”

 

* * *

 

Yachi is good at what she does. She is quiet and soft spoken, but she can bargain for a good deal. She gets them food a coin cheaper than the vender is advertising and helps Hinata get a new whetstone for his sword.

After spending the day shopping, they sit along the edge of a fountain, the slight misty spray of water cool on their necks. Yachi is talking animatedly with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi while Kageyama and Hinata enjoy some dried goat they got from a vendor. They’re just about to leave and make their way to the inn when Sugawara and Michimiya approach them.

Michimiya’s hood is up and her cloak drawn shut, and she must be pretty warm because it’s hot and humid here, but she doesn’t look it. Sugawara is next to her, looking unbothered by the heat as well even as he carries a full basket on his shoulder.

“Wow,” Yachi says, staring, “you’re pretty, Miss.”

Hinata looks at Michimiya and he knows she’s a girl, but how can Yachi tell? Michimiya isn’t as well developed as some of the tavern maids and Sugawara has helped keep her hair cut short and boyish. Hinata will still catch her in the corner of his eye sometimes and think, _Who’s that guy?_ before remembering who she is.

“They’re not a woman,” Sugawara says cautiously. 

“No, that’s a woman.” Yachi frowns, questioning herself now. “Right?”

Sugawara begins to disagree, but Michimiya smiles and says, “I am meant to be in disguise.”

“Right!” Yachi says, flustered. “The noblewoman going to meet her true love—how romantic! I’m so envious of you…”

Michimiya plays along. “I am certain you will find someone someday.”

Yachi’s eyes flick over to where Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are for some reason.

“I hope so,” she says quietly, looking dejected.

“A friend?” Michimiya asks, looking at them for an answer.

Yamaguchi is the one that responds. “Tsuki and I know her.”

“I’m Yachi.” She holds out her hand. “I’m a traveling merchant. We ran into each other at the market.”

Michimiya blinks, seeming surprised, but shakes her hand. “Did you parents by chance do business in Miyagi?”

Yachi nodded. “Yup! We even got to sell the fabric the royal tailors used for king and his family. Well, my parents did. I’m still in training. This is my first big adventure by myself.”

“Is your family okay?”

Another nod. “They were in Datetech on business. Why do you look so relieved? Do you know my parents?”

Michimiya looks to Sugawara, as if he can tell her what to do. Sugawara says nothing, but his eyes seem to say something the princess can understand. Michimiya sits on the rim of the fountain next to her and takes Yachi’s hands in hers.

“I did. They are fine people. I am so glad I have met you. You must join us for dinner. I insist.”

“Uh, okay.”

 

* * *

 

The Sleepy Inn is a lot like other inns Hinata has stayed at with the first floor acting as a tavern where even townspeople come to grab food and drink, while the upper floor is full of rooms for rent. Ukai rented them three rooms, meaning they’ll either have to share beds or sleep on the floor.

They meet together on the first floor and order more food than they should, but after living off of small portions on the boat, it’s an expense worth paying, according to Ukai. They stuff their faces and talk, careful about details of their journey since Yachi is there.

“How do you all know each other?” Sugawara asks pleasantly.

“My family is made of merchants,” Yachi begins to explain. “We sometimes travel and we ran into the caravan Tsukishima and Yamaguchi used to travel with growing up.”

“You two traveled growing up, too?” Sawamura asks.

Yamaguchi nods. “It was a pretty large group of us! Some people came and went, but there were always blacksmiths and merchants and a few apothecaries. We would travel around to the smaller villages and help build things, or the apothecaries would tend to the sick.”

“Why did you break away from the group?” Sugawara asks. “You two travel alone, don’t you?”

Yamaguchi smiles brightly. “Tsuki and I always wanted to go on adventures together! We used to talk about it when we were kids. In the caravan, we always saw the same places, went the same path. We wanted to see something more. So one day, we left. We still keep in touch with them and travel with them from time to time, but we’re mostly on our own now.”

Hinata never knew that.

“I’m going to get more water for the pitcher,” Yachi says, standing, holding the pitcher in both hands. She gives them a bright smile. “Be right back!”

Yamaguchi watches her go and Tsukishima elbows him with, if Hinata didn’t know Tsukishima as a humorless man, would say is a small grin. Yamaguchi looks away, seemingly flustered, and Tsukishima goes back to his meal.

“Those men have been watching us,” Michimiya says, casting her eyes subtly towards three men standing in the corner with their arms crossed.

Hinata looks over, surprised, not having noticed at all. Some of the others seemed to have noticed—Ukai, Sawamura, and Iwaizumi. Kageyama says he noticed but Hinata doesn’t believe him.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Iwaizumi says. “Sawamura, Azumane.”

The two men stand, grabbing their weapons and last bites of food, and follow Iwaizumi and the princess up the stairs towards the rooms.

By the time they’re up the stairs, the men are gone. Hinata didn’t catch where they went.

There’s a short period where no one knows quite what to say, but then Sugawara picks up the conversation on a more light-hearted topic and they all begin to eat and talk again. Sugawara is so good at things like that, Hinata thinks.

A few minutes after Michimiya has gone upstairs, a lady comes over with a piece of parchment and, with a shaky hand, gives it to Ukai. He frowns, begins to ask what it is, but the woman turns and leaves in a hurry.

“That’s not strange at all,” Sugawara comments. “What does it say?”

Ukai reads out loud: “We have the princess. If you want her back, bring five hundred gold coins to the cave to the north. You have until sunrise.”

Ukai curses and hurries upstairs to check and see if Iwaizumi, Sawamura, and Azumane were attacked while guarding Michimiya. It isn’t until he comes back down and confirms she is still safe that Yamaguchi asks:

“Guys, where’s Yachi?”

 

* * *

 

Yamaguchi is the first to insist they go after Yachi. Ukai argues that they can’t leave the real princess unguarded like that. Yamaguchi, however, isn’t taking no for an answer and Hinata agrees. They can’t just leave her to fend for herself, not when they brought her into this mess.

So, Sugawara suggests a plan:

Ukai and Sugawara will join Iwaizumi, Sawamura, and Azumane to protect the princess in case Yachi’s disappearance is a diversion while Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Kageyama, and Hinata go to rescue Yachi from the kidnappers. 

They prepare their weapons and take off into the night. It’s so much colder outside now that the sun has set than when it was before. Hinata even has to run back inside the inn to grab his cape to keep his back warm before they really head off on their mission.

They ask around, trying to figure out where exactly this cave is, and learn the cave just to the north on the outskirts of town is obvious and that they can’t miss it. It sounds reasonable to Hinata, but Tsukishima doesn't seem to think so, but everyone they talk to tells them the same thing. With a sigh, Tsukishima says they should start heading towards the cave.

And true to the world of the town’s folk, there is a clear cave in a mass of reddish rocks surrounded by tall skinny trees with fan-like leaves. It protrudes in the open sandy grassland clear as day, the only structure for some time, just a little ways off the path leading out of town.

Hinata grips the hilt of his sword tightly as he prepares mentally for a battle.

He’s only been with the mercenaries for a year now. Each fight lights a fire in his veins. He thinks of how to best swing his sword, how to best dodge. He’s light on his feet as they approach the cave.

He wonders how Kageyama can be so calm as he nocks an arrow but doesn’t draw it back just yet, the string slack. Kageyama always seems so cool going into battle, not that Hinata would ever tell him this. And not cool as in _I’m not scared_ , but cool as in _I don’t care_. Why did he join a mercenary group if he didn’t want to fight? What’s the point?

And don’t even get him started on Tsukishima, who uses his magic staff like a freakishly tall walking cane, an unreadable expression on his face. Hinata still doesn’t really get magic or the mages that use it. But he knows better than to piss off Tsukishima, who will sometimes make the air around him really cold or blow dirt in his face when he’s trying to practice.

Then there’s Yamaguchi, who always looks nervous. He wields a bow like Kageyama, but it seems more like a tool than part of his body. Kageyama makes his bow look like a strange third arm. Yamaguchi is still good, though, and he works well with Tsukishima. Hinata figures that makes sense if they've been traveling together for so long.

“We’re going to get her back,” Tsukishima says, presumably to Yamaguchi, but Hinata hears it too.

“I know,” Yamaguchi replies quietly. “But—”

“No buts. We’re getting her back.”

Yamaguchi nods.

As they approach the entrance to the cave, a white-black owl swoops down from one of the tall trees and lands on Hinata’s shoulders. It flaps its wings and hoots quietly. It thinks it's Yachi's pet owl, the one she healed back to health.

“I think it wants to help,” Hinata says.

“How the hell can a bird help?” Kageyama replies.

It hoots at Kageyama.

Tsukishima glares at the owl then his expression softens. “I think I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

Hinata and the others creep carefully into the cave, hiding behind rocks to look on. There’s seven men in the belly of the cave. There's a roughly made fire pit they all sit around and loads of crates and barrels, probably things they stole off of travelers. To the side is Yachi, who sits on the floor, hands tied behind her back. 

When Tsukishima gives the signal, the bird flies off Hinata’s shoulders and towards the kidnapper closest to Yachi. It digs its talons into the man’s eyes and the man gives a blood curling scream as he tries to swat at the bird, which pulls back as quickly as it came, leaving trails of red streaming down the man’s face. He falls to the ground, clutching his eyes and the bird lands on Yachi’s shoulder protectively. Its wings flare out, blood on its beak, and even Hinata is somewhat scared of that bird. 

During the confusion, they charge.

Kageyama buries his arrows into two men and Hinata goes and strikes them down with slashes across their chest, moving quickly. You only want to be in their space long enough to land a single blow, Sawamura told him when he first joined the mercenaries. A single blow is all it takes.

Somewhere to his right, Tsukishima is lifting men up with magic wind and slamming them into the cave roof until they go limp while Yamaguchi works arrows in the last remaining men. The men from Tsukishima's spell crash to the floor, some of their limbs not landing quite right, and even though they're bad guys, Hinata feels a twinge of sympathetic pain. Mages could be scary. 

It only lasts an instant, but it feels like it goes on for ages.

When all the men are either knocked out or worse, Tsukishima goes to undo Yachi’s bindings, making quick work of the rope. The owl hopes off her shoulder, flapping its wings like its instructing Tsukishima, who glares at the creature. When she's finally free, the first thing she does is toss her arms around Tsukishima, who surprisingly hugs her back. The second thing she does is run towards Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi hugs Yachi tightly, her face buried against his chest.

“Don’t let go,” she pleads.

“I won’t,” he promises.

 

* * *

 

They bring Yachi and her owl back to the Sleepy Sheep inn and somehow, they all manage to cram into one of the tiny rooms. Yachi sits thigh to thigh with Yamaguchi, who keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulders, forcing the owl to sit elsewhere, like the top of Tsukishima’s head. No matter how much Tsukishima swats at it, it does not budge.

None of them say anything for a long while. Then, Ukai sighs and says, “Now what?”

“I want to travel with you!” Yachi declares. “I know who she is. They kept calling me princess, but I’m not a princess. But you are. You’re Princess Michimiya Yui, aren’t you? That's how you knew my family.”

Michimiya does not try to deny it. She smiles faintly and nods, almost solemnly.

Yachi stands then she bows down, body nearly parallel to the ground, and says, “Please let me travel with you! I want to help you.”

Michimiya puts a hand under her chin and lifts her head, slowly helping her straighten out her entire body, her touch light and gentle.

“I would love the company of another woman. I am happy to have you join our group.” She looks over at Ukai, Sawamura, and Iwaizumi. “I am sure this will not be a problem?”

Ukai sighs and rubs the back of his head. “Not really. If she wants to come, she can, ‘s long as she understands how serious this secret is and how dangerous this job is.”

“I do!” Yachi says, clasping her hands together. “I’ll protect your secret with my life.”

Michimiya’s smile falters. “I hope it will never come to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait on this one. Life has not been kind these past few weeks. Life may not be kind again for some time so to anyone who is actively reading this, thank you for your patience! 
> 
> In times like these, I find it so incredibly hard to write and like what I put down. I find faults in everything and can't enjoy a single line. Everything feels off, imperfect. And no amount of staring at my word document or erasing or re-writing can fix it. This isn't me fishing for compliments. This is me just sort of sharing my troubles.
> 
> Maybe when life is kinder, I'll come back and edit this chapter and make it into what I have in my head, but for now, I'm pushing forward and am just going to keep writing. There's so much I want to share for this fic and it's never going to happen if I don't keep pushing. (I also don't know why I decided to torture myself and make Hinata a PoV character. I can never write him well! Iwaizumi is the main PoV but Sawamura, Hinata, and a third person also get PoVs occasionally.) 
> 
> Yachi has some really great lines in this fic. I adore her. Her character is based heavily on Tressa from Octopath Traveler. I played 60 hours within a week and a half and beat it (minus the bs post game boss). I kept thinking, "Oh, this would be great for Yachi." That game really inspired me when I was planning this whole thing. Also the OST is great for background noise!
> 
> (Edit: It's been a few months now and I finally got around to coming back and editing this a bit. I didn't delete anything, I just added a few lines to flesh it out a bit more in parts! Life does get kinder.)


	7. The White Mage

   

There are five kingdoms on this mass of land: Aobajousai, Karasuno, Datetech, Nekoma, and Shiratorizawa.

Aobajousai is known for its military might. Their knights are sung about in distant lands. Even in what was previously a time of peace, knights made names for themselves by winning tournaments and conquering great feats. Many defeated wild beasts, or climbed dangerous mountains, or did enough good deeds for their names to spread. The king of Aobajousai is expected to be a warrior, though they will never fight in battle, for they are the leader of the armed forces. Aobajousai is a land of strength.   

Karasuno is one of the smallest kingdoms, but its people are strong. The rule of the royal family is short, only a handful of generations, the previous royal bloodline dying out, leaving only a queen through marriage. The Michimiyas may not have the blood of Karasuno’s founders, but they have been loved by their people. Instead of raising an army, the peaceful House of Michimiya has always focused its energy in helping foster agriculture and trade, their economy flourishing in this time of peace. Karasuno is a land of unexpected things.  

In the center of the continent, bordering all four kingdoms, is Datetech. It is the only true neutral kingdom, existing as a refuge to all and is a land without war. They favor no sides and will let armies pass through without question. However, if two armies met inside of Datetech, their warriors will quell any skirmish, and rulers know better than to send their armies through Datetech on a whim. Datetech is a land of iron will.

To the warmest region in the south, its borders protected by mountains and the sea, is Nekoma. Several tribes make up the region but they are unified by a selected leader. The land is known for its exotic wares, its warm weather, and its mages. They are the finest in all the land, second to none. Nekoma is a land of magic.

The Shiratorizawa Empire is the only kingdom with a military force more prevalent than Aobajousai. Their people are driven by the will of the gods. Warriors monks make frequent pilgrimages to a mountain in the north, the tallest peak in the land, to talk to the gods. They despise magic, claiming it is blasphemy, and execute any mage or healer suspected of practicing magic within their borders. Shiratorizawa is a land of men and gods. 

Fifty years ago, Shiratorizawa declared war on Nekoma for its prominent use of magic and began what is now known as the Ten Year War. It brought chaos to the land, but no other kingdom interfered until eight years after Shiratorizawa first crossed the mountains into Nekoma.

In the last two years of the war, Karasuno allied with Nekoma and Sir Ukai, a young knight of Karasuno, was named commander of Karasuno's forces. They say it was Karasuno’s intervention that drew the war to the halt. They say that it was Sir Ukai alone that brought peace.

But those that have read books on the topic know it is more complicated than that. There was also Nekoma’s newly elected leader, Nekomata, a powerful mage that took control of the kingdom six years into the war. It was the combination of Nekomata and Sir Ukai together that finally brokered a reluctant peace treaty. One without the other would have surely failed.

Even now, Sir Ukai is considered a hero of Karasuno and Lord Nekomata continues to rule Nekoma.

 

* * *

 

It takes them four days to travel from the Grand Port to Okyo City, the capital of Nekoma. Iwaizumi is happy the journey is without trouble. There are no bandits, only other travelers and some merchants, who Yachi barters with for fresh fruit for them to enjoy. The juice of an orange is still sticky on Iwaizumi’s chin when they finally reach Okyo.

It’s a marvelous, large city surrounded by otherworldly trees with hanging moss and vines. Trees bloom with colorful flowers, red the most abundant. The color red has nothing to do with Nekoma itself. The current ruler, Nekomata, has a fondness for red for some reason. Having being ruled as the elected king for decades, the city has grown fond of the color as well. 

The castle is just as gorgeous as the city. The palace is built with sun-kissed stones and is covered in flowering ivy and protected from the harsh sun by large trees. The vast majority of the castle is a single level with very few towers. Most towers, Iwaizumi suspects, are used by guards. The land here is relatively flat and with a high vantage, you should be able to see for a long while.

There are two guards standing at the front entrance, lances sharp at their sides and pointed skyward. Ukai moves his way to the front of the group.

“My name is Ukai Keishin. My grandfather is the guest of Lord Nekomata, who’s expecting us.”

The guards nod. "This way.”

They follow the guards through the castle halls. Lush green plants in ornate pots line the halls along with animated sculptures of cats. It’s so different from the castle at Seijoh. So much _warmer_. Iwaizumi could get used to a place like this.

They’re led into a large room and then the guards leave them. Moments later, an old man walks into the room with his hands behind his back.

"Lord Nekomata," Ukai greets, dropping down to his knee. 

Lord Nekomata is an old man with silver hair and layered red robes of all shades. His robes are clipped together by silver chains and on his head sits a simple crown with the symbols of the tribes of Nekoma. Cats of all kinds run around the circumference of the crown—field cats and mountain cats to tigers and lions.

Iwaizumi knows little of the King of Cats. He is a strong mage that took over control near the middle of the Ten Year War, a cunning tactician, and a lifelong friend of Sir Ukai of Karasuno.

They all drop to their knees, Hinata having to be knocked down by Tsukishima, who lands a blow to the back of his leg. Michimiya is the only one who remains standing, bowing her head slightly. 

"Please, no need to be so formal," Nekomata says, but Iwaizumi doesn't quiet believe him. He's spent his whole life around royals. He knows when they think respect should be given and when they don't.

They all rise. Nekomata smiles with his mouth but not with his eyes, not until they land on Ukai. Then his eyes smile as well.

“It’s good to see you again, Keishin,” Nekomata says with a cat-like grin. “You haven’t come here since you were a boy. You’ve almost grown into a man.”

Ukai grins at the good-hearted joke and rubs the back of his head. “Never had the time. Is my grandfather around? I figured he would greet us, not you.”

Nekomata’s sharp smile disappears. His voice is free of emotion but quiet when he says, “He’s not feeling so well today and has elected to stay in our room. I’m sure he’ll appreciate a visit from you.”

“You mean, he’ll kick my ass because we’re a day behind schedule,” Ukai grumbles.

“Ikkei is Ikkei, even in his old age. I’ll take you to see him shortly.”

Ukai nods in thanks.

Nekomata looks over their group, eyeing Michimiya and Yachi before settling on Michimiya. “You must be this princess I’ve heard all about. You look so much like your mother. I’m sorry that we are finally meeting under such terrible circumstances.”

Michimiya steps forward and bows her head again. “Thank you for taking me in even though we have never met.”

“You do not need to bow your head to me. We’re all friends here. We can talk tonight at the feast.”

“Feast?” Hinata asks eagerly.

“The largest we’ve had in years! We must welcome Princess Michimiya and Ikkei’s grandson. It is the least we can do.”

Michimiya smiles. “Your hospitality is very much appreciated.”

Lord Nekomata waves over a guard, who had been hidden in the shadows. No, it is not an ordinary guard. They wear red robes and Iwaizumi spots several knives strapped to his body. He is likely Lord Nekomata's shadow, his personal guard. 

“Show these people to the guest quarters, Yaku. Keishin, if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to Ikkei.”

 

* * *

 

They’re shown their rooms and while they have to share, it’s only two per room and could be worse. Iwaizumi is roomed with Azumane, who Iwaizumi still does not know much about. He was once a soldier stationed in Miyagi, but has presumably retired to become a mercenary. That’s all Iwaizumi knows. He doesn’t feel like pressing to learn more at this time; doesn’t have a need to. 

As the sun sets, they are called from their rooms and escorted to the banquet hall.

The banquet hall is decorated with lavish curtains in gorgeous, rich colors that remind Iwaizumi of the roofs of the Grand Port—dark emerald, blood red, ocean blue. The colors intertwine beautifully with one another and shine like they might be velvet. In the center of the room is a long rectangular wooden table low to the ground. Instead of chairs, there are pillows that match the curtains, each soft looking. Nekomata sits at the end of the table, waiting for them. In the shadows, Iwaizumi spots Yaku, whose eyes seem to glow as he watches them enter. 

On the table is a feast fit for royalty. Iwaizumi hasn’t seen this much food in one place since Oikawa’s coronation and his stomach rumbles at how good it looks and smells. Bowls overflow with fresh bread and slightly charged vegetables that were cooked over a fire. There are several birds roasted whole and coated in herbs, and even two whole pigs with apples shoved in their mouths and large knives to carve into them. There’s a pitcher at arm’s reach no matter where you sit and servants to the side with more waiting.

“Please,” Nekomata says, spreading out his arms with a wide smile, “eat.”

Iwaizumi barely has the restraint to stop from running to the table like some of the other mercenaries. He walks quickly and kneels on the pillow, filling his plate with bits of bread, meat of some small bird, and greens he has never seen.

It’s been so long since he’s had a proper meal. When was it? When they were at the fort? That food had been good, but nothing compared to the meals the ladies made for the knights at Seijoh. They were given the same food as the king and prince most nights. He misses the meat of elks and the sweets they made with the winter berries. 

Michimiya sits near the head of the table with Ukai and Nekomata and a servant fills her plate with some of the pork and slices cheese for her bread.

The wine is sharper than Iwaizumi’s used to and he shivers when it hits his tongue, but it tastes so damn good after a long day of riding. He downs his goblet and pours more from the pitcher, passing it off to Kageyama when his cup is filled to the brim.  

At the head of his table, Ukai sighs. “I’m sorry for their manners, Lord Nekomata.”

Nekomata laughs as a servant finishes filling his plate. “No need to apologize! What good is food if it’s not eaten fresh?”

“Did you try these green things, Kageyama?” Hinata asks eagerly, reaching across the table for more bread. Food sprays from his mouth as he talks.

“You’re an animal,” Tsukishima says in disgust, his plate filled more sparingly than the rest.

“You need to eat more,” Sawamura says to Tsukishima and adds more bread to his plate.

Tsukishima frowns. “I’m not eating all of that.”

“Yes, you are. Here, have some more chicken, too.”

Iwaizumi grins as he watches the interaction. Kunimi never ate much either when he first joined the Riders. 

The wine flows and the food fills their stomachs until their eating becomes less rapid and more sedated. Michimiya is still eating, though she’s eaten at a much slower pace than the rest of them, second only to Nekomata.

What is it with rulers and eating slowly? Oikawa was that way too. Apparently it’s rude and uncivilized to eat like you’re hungry. Iwaizumi remembers all the times he and the Riders out ate Oikawa, three plates deep before Oikawa finished his first.

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi see someone step into the room then come to a sudden, surprised halt when they realize there are guests present. They stand stiffly, their hands coming together nervously in front of them, fingers twining together. They wear a loose white cloak with the hood drawn up, their face cast downward to avoid eye contact.

“Sorry for intruding,” they grumble quietly. “I’ve been in the library all day and didn’t know there were guests.”

“No, no,” Nekomata says, waving his hand dismissively. “Come in. I want to introduce you to our guests. Ukai’s grandson finally arrived and brought some very interesting people with him.”

They walk into the room to stand next to Nekomata, who is laughing good-heartedly at their nervousness.

“Everyone,” Nekomata says, his voice booming to draw their attention, though most continue to eat while they listen, “I’d like you to meet the White Mage.”

Iwaizumi almost drops his fork when the White Mage lowers their hood.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi knows very little about the council that advises the royal family. He knows they must be noblemen with the exception of the Arc Mage and court physician, who are elected by vote based on their skill, though of course noblemen are more likely to be voted in. They are all old men, no women to be seen, and they order around servants like they are the kings of Aobajousai. Even the king does not treat his servants so poorly, or abuse the pages in such a way.

He knows even less about the apprentice of the current Arc Mage, a boy named Kuroo that Iwaizumi thinks is his age or a year younger, fourteen or thirteen. In all the years Kuroo has lived in the castle, Iwaizumi’s never had the opportunity to ask. Kuroo is kept busier than Oikawa. In addition to lessons and trainings in the magical arts, Kuroo runs chores for the Arc Mage. Iwaizumi often sees him trailing behind his master, or surrounded by books in the library, or venturing into town with a list of items. 

And today, Iwaizumi is apparently helping him with his chores.

“Prince Oikawa said I could have you for the day,” Kuroo explains when he comes to fetch him from the squires’ quarters. “I needed help and you’re stronger than any of the other servants.”

“I’m not a servant,” Iwaizumi growls. A servant to the knights, no doubt, but Kuroo is not a knight. “I’m a squire.”

Kuroo grimaces. “Sorry if I offended you. I call anyone that works for royalty or the council a servant, including myself.”

“You’re the apprentice to the Arc Mage,” Iwaizumi counters, surprised that Kuroo thinks himself a servant. The Arc Mage is one of the closet advisors to the king. “You’ll be part of the council one day.”

“And you’ll become the prince’s knight. Until we actually get those titles, we’re not much better than servants.”

He’s not exactly wrong.

“Why do you need me?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kuroo lifts up a scroll and allows it to unroll. It’s so long it reaches the floor. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as Kuroo grins. “Shopping trip.”

They bundle up in heavy fur-lined cloaks, and Iwaizumi grabs one of the swords available to the squires for practice, and they head into the streets of the citadel. Kuroo has a slew of baskets and bags with him, like he’s prepared to take back half the market.

The citadel is surrounded by mountains and the city is built in layers. It was easier to build that way rather than flattening the mountains to an equal plane. The higher the layer, the higher the prestige. The castle is at the peak, surrounded by forests that were planted long ago and the trees have grown so large they look as though they have been there since time began.

Kuroo takes him to different shops buying glassware and herbs and books and any number of strange things Iwaizumi does not know the name to. There’s a red root as long as his arm that he has chopped into thick chunks, a vial of silvery liquid that Kuroo tells him you can play with in your palm, and leaves from trees from far off places. He pays with silver coins, carefully counting them out from a velvet pouch he was given by his master, and crosses items off his list.

“How did you get to be the apprentice to the Arc Mage?” Iwaizumi asks curiously as they enter yet another apothecary of the middle layer. “You’re not a nobleman’s son.”

Kuroo laughs. “No, I’m not. I’m as far from noble as you can get.” Kuroo peruses the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling and plucks a bundle off the string. “I was a street rat in a city along the eastern mountain range. I have a rare gift that allows me to sense magic. I can tell who is a trained mage, if an object has been enchanted, things like that. My master was visiting my city on business and I went up to this well dressed stranger and said, ‘You’re strong, mister. Can you show me some magic?' You see, I was distracting him so another kid could pick his pocket. He laughed and gave the kid who got caught picking his pocket extra coin for the rest of the kids to buy a hot meal. He talked to me and told me I was special. I had no parents so he took me back here to Seijoh and began to teach me everything he knows, but not until he had successfully encouraged the council to build a proper orphanage in the city I came from.”  

Kuroo pays for the bundle of herbs then looks at Iwaizumi. “What about you? How did you get stuck with Prince Oikawa?”

“My mother died of an illness when I was young and my father was head of the Royal Guard and the king’s sworn knight. When he died protecting the king, I didn’t have anything left. I decided to promise my life to the prince like my father had done for the king.”

“You can tell me. Was it the worst mistake you’ve ever made?” Kuroo asks with a grin.

Iwaizumi laughs.

They walk for two hours and the baskets and bags Kuroo hand Iwaizumi to carry grow heavier and heavier, and he understands why Kuroo requested a squire and not a servant. Just when Iwaizumi thinks they’re done—they’ve visited nearly every shop in the upper and middle layers—Kuroo turns down an alley that leads to another row of stops.

This road smells of burnt venison and stale alcohol. People wear scarves over their faces and the shops do not have signs, but they are clearly stores of some sort. Iwaizumi can see and hear people bartering.

“I’ve never been to this part of town,” Iwaizumi says with a frown. He does not like this place and he cannot explain why. He puts his hand on the hilt of his sword, as if expecting someone to come and attack at any second.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Kuroo replies. “This is where black-market merchants set up shop. There’s a few things my master needs that are hard to come by.”

Iwaizumi grunts and follows Kuroo, but can’t help but let his eye wander. On the corner of the street he sees a man with missing teeth standing in front of a woman bound by iron shackles. She doesn’t look happy to be there at all, but is not meeting anyone’s eye or asking for help.

“What are they selling?” Iwaizumi asks, nodding his head towards them.

“Humans.” Kuroo’s expression grows dark. “They’re slave traders.”

“That’s illegal,” Iwaizumi says, horrified and shocked.

Kuroo snorts. “Look around. Everything is illegal back here.”

Iwaizumi swallows his complaints. Maybe he can ask Oikawa if he knows anything about this, see if he can bring it up to the king. Surely the king will shut this down if he knows human lives are being sold.

Kuroo walks through a curtain of beads into a shop with strange jars filled with stranger things. Snake skins hang from the ceiling and horns of exotic animals can be bought either whole or shaved. Iwaizumi feels eyes watching him and he thinks they may be from that jar on the far wall.

Kuroo talks to the shop keeper, who pulls something out of the back for him. Kuroo hands over the silver, tucks the wrapped object into one of the baskets Iwaizumi is holding, and then quickly leaves. He doesn’t seem to like the shop either, but he is still more at ease than Iwaizumi.

Two more stops later, Kuroo declares that they are done.

“Thank the gods,” Iwaizumi says, his arms growing numb under the weight.

Kuroo slaps him on the back. “When we’re old enough, I’ll buy you a drink at the tavern as thanks.”

Iwaizumi grins. “I’ll hold you to that.”

On their way out of the black market, they pass by the slave traders, Iwaizumi determined not to look because if he looks, he’ll want to help. Kuroo has no such qualms and whatever he sees makes him stop dead in his tracks.

“That’s…” Kuroo says, trailing off.

Iwaizumi looks against his better judgement. This time, there is a young child in shackles. He can’t be much younger than Iwaizumi and Kuroo, but at their age, a few years shows quite a bit. He has chin-length black hair that appears to have been hastily combed and scratches over his arms and legs. He wears loose clothes that look like burlaps sacks and no shoes or gloves. He must be freezing as the slave trader tugs at his chains, jerking him forward to show him off.

Kuroo approaches the boy, who watches Kuroo carefully, curling in on himself like a scared cat.

“What color are you?” Kuroo asks.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what that means, but the boy’s eyes widen a fraction in recognition.

The boy looks to the slave trader, who is talking to an older man in expensive looking robes. Iwaizumi thinks he may be a visiting nobleman. Iwaizumi snarls, wanting to run him through with his blade for even thinking of buying a child.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy lies.

Kuroo kneels in front of him. “I know you’re scared, but lying to me isn’t going to make me go away. I have the ability to sense magic. You’re suppressing it, but you’re too strong to hide it completely. So what color are you?”

Another nervous glance at the slave trader. “White,” he murmurs.

Iwaizumi approaches Kuroo’s side and keeps his voice low when he talks. “What the hell is going on? Do you know him?”

“I know of him,” Kuroo explains, his expression cruel. It’s cruelty to the slave trader, not the boy in front of him. “He’s one of the eight Colored Mages. They’re mages that are reborn every generation. Together, they have the power to topple the world. Whenever a Colored Mage passes, there’s a great search for their successor. Everyone has their reasons for searching—power, money, fame, peace—but I’m guessing this slave trader doesn’t know who he is or he wouldn’t be selling him in some back alley. He’d be going straight to the king’s court.”

That sounds like a story to Iwaizumi, but Kuroo certainly seems to believe it. Kuroo says he can sense magic and if this boy is some fated mage, Iwaizumi imagines he must be strong.

Iwaizumi looks over his shoulder at the slave trader, who is still in conversation with the nobleman.

“What do you want to do?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kuroo stands, hands his baskets and bags to Iwaizumi, and approaches the slave trader. He does not wait for the nobleman to stop speaking. He taps the slaver on the shoulder and asks, “How much for the boy?”

The nobleman looks offended that some child interrupted his conversation, but the slave trader smiles and laughs. “Bit out of your price range, kid. Run along back to your mother’s tit.”

Kuroo does not falter. “I asked how much.”

The slaver studies him, raking his eyes over him like a piece of meat, judging his status by his clothes. “One hundred gold coins and that’s a bargain. He’s young. Untouched ‘n all that. Real pretty, too.”

The nobleman smiles and Iwaizumi’s jaw tightens in disgust.

Kuroo reaches into his pocket and mutters something Iwaizumi doesn’t understand as he struggles to find what he’s looking for. Then he pulls out the velvet pouch he’s been using to pay with all day. The slaver eyes it curiously, mentally gauging the size and how it sits in Kuroo’s palm. Kuroo reaches inside and plucks out three random coins, all gold.

Iwaizumi frowns because he was certain that was a bag of silver. Did he have another bag hidden away?

“I only have ninety-seven left after shopping,” Kuroo says. “But I’m willing to give you some of the wares I’ve purchased if you can’t lower your price a measly three coins.”

The slaver’s face breaks into a slow smile. “I’ll give you a discount for your speedy payment.”

“You’re too generous,” Kuroo says, clearly forcing himself. The slaver holds out his hands, like he’s expecting Kuroo to hand over the pouch. Instead, Kuroo presses the pouch close to his chest, his expression dark. “I’m not that stupid. Release him and then I’ll pay.”

“Smart boy,” the slaver says, moving towards the chained boy.

The nobleman reaches out and grabs the slaver’s arm.

“You said _I_ could have the boy,” the nobleman says.

“You got your gold now, noble sir?” the slaver taunts.

The nobleman scoffs. “Who would be so foolish as to carry an amount like that around _these_ parts?”

“A kid who just bought _your_ boy, that’s who,” the slaver says cheerfully. He jerks his arm away from the nobleman, who turns and leaves in a huff, and then goes to unlock the young boy’s chains. He grips the boy’s arm tight then holds out his other hand. “Gimme the coins and you get the boy.”

Kuroo puts the pouch into the man’s hands and he looks inside to confirm it is all gold and not a scam. He’s pleased with what he sees and releases the boy, shoving him forward. The boy stumbles and grabs Kuroo’s arm for balance, his legs shaking and eyes wide.

“Pleasure doin’ business, kid.”

Kuroo nods. He gently grasps the boy’s shoulders to lead him away and begins to walk towards the main street, away from the black market. Iwaizumi follows, lugging the baskets and bags.

“Hurry,” Kuroo says, walking briskly but not so fast the slaver is suspicious. “That enchantment won’t hold for long and when he realizes I just gave him silver, he’s going to be pissed.”

Iwaizumi _knew_ that was a pouch of silver, not gold. Had that muttering been a spell? It was no language he knew. 

“Where are you taking me?” the boy asks nervously.

“To the castle.”

“Are you a prince?”

Kuroo laughs. He takes off his fur-lined cloak and drapes it over the boy's shoulders. The boy eagerly wraps it around himself like a blanket and does not run away, following alongside Kuroo as they walk back onto the main street of the market.

“My name is Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m the apprentice to the Arc Mage, who advises the king. My master is a good man. He won’t hurt you, or want to use your powers for this kingdom. He’ll help you get home, if that’s what you want.” Kuroo looks over at Iwaizumi. “That scary kid’s Iwaizumi. He doesn’t look like it, but he’s the prince’s personal squire. He’ll help get you some food and warm clothes while I talk to my master.”

The boy looks anxiously at Iwaizumi, who nods. He has some older clothes that may fit the boy, and the kitchen servants like him well enough. Oikawa and he sneak in there between meals and they’re always thrilled to see the young prince. “His plates are always empty when the servants bring them down,” the old women say happily. They take it as a great compliment that the prince likes their food.  

“What’s your name?” Iwaizumi asks the boy.

 

* * *

 

“You can call me Kenma,” the White Mage mumbles, the same way he had all those years ago.

Hinata leans over to Kageyama and whispers a little too loudly, “Is that a boy or a girl? I can’t tell.”

“A boy,” Kageyama grumbles. He must recognize Kenma as well.

Hinata’s eyes widen. “They’re pretty for a boy.”

Kenma sits down on a pillow next to Nekomata, though he doesn’t look too happy about it. He calmly looks around at the new faces until he reaches Kageyama’s. There he is mildly shocked, but he continues looking. When he reaches Iwaizumi, his visibly eyes widen.

Nekomata notices and looks at Iwaizumi closely, like he too may recognize him, but doesn’t seem to.

“Why are they here again?” Kenma asks Nekomata, though his eyes never leave Iwaizumi.

“They escorted Princess Michimiya to us,” Nekomata says, eyes moving on. He’s clever and sly; Iwaizumi never wants him as an enemy. “By the time I heard word Aobajousai had laid siege on Miyagi, I knew it was too late for us to help. It seems I was wrong. With the princess alive, there is a reason to fight. There is hope.”

Michimiya smiles. “Thank you for your kind words, but you are wrong. As long as there is a single person who calls Karasuno their home, there is always hope and a reason to fight. Even if I were gone, the people of Karasuno would remain.”

Nekomata laughs. “You’re just like your father, you know?”

“How did she survive?” Kenma asks skeptically, finally looking away from Iwaizumi. “Our sources tell us Miyagi was set aflame and the royal family was killed.”

Nekomata scratches his chin like he hadn’t considered that, though Iwaizumi finds that very hard to believe. This is the man that changed the tide of the Ten Year War, that brokered peace. Without him, Nekoma and its mages would have been eradicated.

Nekomata looks over at the younger Ukai and says, “How _did_ you lot happen upon her? Your letters to Ikkei didn’t say.”

“Iwaizumi brought her to us,” Ukai says, gesturing his goblet loosely towards Iwaizumi. “Tried to pass her off as his brother ‘til we heard word the capital fell and could put the pieces together ourselves.”

“Iwaizumi, you say?” Nekomata laughs. “A bold move!” When he has quieted down, his eyes are sharper, not at all influenced by the alcohol he’s been drinking constantly throughout the night. He looks at Iwaizumi, who suddenly cannot breathe. “Especially for King Oikawa’s sworn knight.”

The room quiets and all eyes turn to Iwaizumi. Kageyama alone remains staring at his goblet with a hard frown. Michimiya’s eyes are the only ones that are gentle, her gaze apologetic that his secret has been revealed. 

“Kenma clearly recognizes you,” Nekomata says coolly, his gaze never moving from Iwaizumi’s face. “I don't think he knows many Iwaizumi's who would get wrapped up in this mess. He’s told me all about you. He says you and Oikawa are like two sides of the same coin—absolutely _inseparable_. I wonder why you of all people would betray your king to save the princess.”

Iwaizumi balls his hands into fists in his lap. He wonders if they’ll strike him down. He is a knight of the enemy. The knight of the enemy’s commander, all of things. They’d have every reason to.

Of course, it’s Hinata that stands up, childishly points at him, and says, “The princess said you saved her because you were a knight in the castle!”

“They lied,” Tsukishima says coldly. “Obviously.”

“The question is, why?” Ukai says from the end of the table.

Iwaizumi tries to recall the last time he saw Kenma. It was shortly after Oikawa’s coronation, wasn’t it? Sometime before Oikawa truly lost his mind, but after Kuroo had begun to be affected as well. Iwaizumi was never close to Kenma and hadn’t asked anyone where he had traveled to. Kenma traveled often and Iwaizumi had had his hands full with Oikawa by that point.

He never thought he’d travel back to his birthplace, to Nekoma.

“I’m sure Kenma’s already explained it to you,” Iwaizumi says, looking at the White Mage. “He was there when it started.”

Nekomata smiles slyly. “I want to hear it in your own words.”

Iwaizumi looks at Michimiya. He told her once that he didn’t know where to begin and that is still true. He decides to start with the only part that matters for now.

“Oikawa’s gone mad,” Iwaizumi says and it hurts to say because he knows it’s true and he knows it means that he has failed his king, his friend, his everything. “It’s like he’s possessed.”

“Not _like_ ,” Kenma says quietly, but everyone can hear. “He is possessed. Kuroo, too.”

“Who’s Kuroo?” Hinata asks, settling back down.

“The Arc Mage of Aobajousai,” Iwaizumi answers. Thinking about Kuroo is easier than thinking about Oikawa, but it is still not pleasant. “One of the king’s most trusted advisors. Kuroo and Kenma were—well, they were close.”

Kenma tilts his head down.

“Possessed by what?” Sawamura asks.

“Demons,” Kenma says.

“Demons?” Yachi squeaks, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hands the second the word has left her mouth. “ _Actual_ demons?”

“How do you know for certain?” Ukai asks, looking at Kenma.

“Is no one going to talk about the demon bit?” Yachi asks quietly.

“After his coronation, King Oikawa began to act strangely.” Iwaizumi nods in confirmation before Kenma goes on, “Everyone thought it was stress. His father had just died without warning and he was suddenly the king. It didn’t seem strange to think he was breaking under pressure. But Kuroo felt something was off about him. Before he could figure out what, Kuroo started to act weird. When Kuroo and his magic changed, I left for Nekoma to ask Nekomata for advice." 

“His magic changed?” Tsukishima asks, equal parts curious and confused by the statement.

“ _Demons_?” Yachi whispers to Yamaguchi, who shrugs.

“It became dark,” Kenma explains. “Like something had infected it. I can’t sense magic like Kuroo, but even I could tell something was wrong with his. Even if his magic hadn't changed, he acted strangely enough. He was like an imitation of the real Kuroo."  

“Is there a way to stop them?” Sawamura asks. “Un-possess them somehow?”

“Only one of the eight Colored Mages would have the power to exorcise a demon, but they are hard to contact,” Nekomata explains. “Most remain hidden in the shadows. I have sent word to the Green Mage in Nohebi to the west, but I doubt he will get involved in another land’s affairs. And as far as we know, Kenma is the only Colored Mage in this land.”

“Are you so old you’re senile, old man?” a gruff voice asks.

An old man with a loose tunic and a sword on his shoulder walks into the room with a massive grin. Even with his wrinkles and scars, there is a striking resemblance to Ukai. Sawamura, Sugawara, and Azumane stiffen as he enters but he only laughs. At the end of the table, Nekomata smiles in recognition, his expression fond.

Hinata grabs Kageyama by the shoulder and begins to shake him. “Is that him? Do you think it’s him? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“I thought you said you were too ill to come to dinner,” Ukai grumbles as his grandfather sits next to him, rests his sword behind him, and reaches for Ukai’s goblet and steals a turkey leg from his plate.

“I was wrong,” the old knight says. “Been awhile, Princess. Last time I saw you, you came up to my hip. Sorry to hear about your old man.”

Michimiya smiles sadly. “Yes. He always spoke very fondly of you. I would love to hear any stories you have of the two of you. I am certain there are many he never told me.”

Sawamura clears his throat and says, “Are you implying Kenma _isn’t_ the only Colored Mage on the continent, Sir Ukai?”

Sir Ukai looks at Sawamura and grins. He looks over Sugawara and Azumane too. “You three have grown up since the last time I saw you. I want to spar later and see how far you’ve come.”

Sawamura and Sugawara grimace. Azumane grows pale.

“And yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You’re looking at the Red Mage himself,” Sir Ukai says, waving his turkey leg towards Nekomata. “’course, Red is the weakest and White is the strongest. They’re like a rainbow of power. Red, orange, all the way to purple then black and white.”

“I’m too old to exorcise a demon,” Nekomata says lightly. “Kenma is the only reliable option.”

“Too old my ass,” Sir Ukai grumbles. “You just want to leave it to the youngin’s. It’s _their_ age, you always say. Our time has passed. I’m sick, not dead.”

“Grandfather,” Ukai mutters in exasperation, resting his head in one of his hands.

“Then let’s have Kenma exorcise them and be done with this!” Hinata says simply with a wide grin.

“They have an army,” Tsukishima reminds him. “Or did you forget that?”

Hinata growls. “I’m talking broadly! That’s the plan, isn’t it? Get Kenma to exorcise these demons or whatever and save the day and the princess! It’s simple.”

“I appreciate the energy, but nothing about this is simple,” Nekomata says. “We can discuss strategy tomorrow. I have called our tribal leaders to the capital to discuss our plan moving forward. For now, let’s continue our meal and have you rest. I’m sure your journey has not been easy.”

“Thank you, Lord Nekomata,” Princess Michimiya says and her word is final.

Tomorrow, they will discuss the path ahead. For tonight, they will eat and sleep, and Iwaizumi is more than okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite early-game chapter and I've been dying to share it since I posted the prologue/first chapter!
> 
> I originally wasn't going to share a map but I figured I might as well? It reappears a few more times with different information/locations. The map may be more helpful next chapter when they're talking strategy, but I decided to share it here because then I could at least explain a bit more about the Ten Year War that's been mentioned and why the Karasuno-Nekoma alliance exists.
> 
> The Arc Mage of Aobajousai is sort of this bank of knowledge. Yes, they can do magic and are highly trained in it, but they also do research and such. They're like maesters in Game of Thrones, if that reference means anything to you at all.


	8. The Path Ahead

There are a lot of things Iwaizumi should be feeling right now, but all of it blurs together into frustration. And there’s only one thing guaranteed to curb his frustration: swinging his sword.

He seeks out a training grounds, or an empty courtyard, anywhere within the castle walls for him to get in a few swings. One of the servants he asks tells him that there is a place used by Sir Ukai, who cares for and trains several street rats and by this point he has a small army of children that will attack anyone who speaks badly about their master. Iwaizumi tries to imagine a group of tiny children in ill-fitted armor that fight like the fabled knight and doesn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid.

After getting pointed in three different directions by three different servants, he finds a small grassy courtyard with large flowers and bushes cut into different cats. There’s even a tree, which reaches up towards the sky, towering over the nearby walls. The tree appears ancient with long branching limbs and strips of moss hanging from its branches. Iwaizumi briefly wonders if the palace was built around the tree.

It’s the perfect place to swing his sword.

Or, it would be, if it wasn’t occupied.

The princess is sitting in the grass in a flowing white dress. It’s the dress similar to the ones the female servants wear around the castle. The dress does not make her look regal, nor does it does make her stand out as the princess she is. It is not extravagant, or fit for royalty, but it suits her far better than the ratty, old clothing they’ve given her so far. Even with her short cut hair, she looks far more feminine in a dress.

She’s sitting in the grass under the shade of the tree so that she can watch Sir Ukai spar with Azumane. Sawamura and Sugawara are sitting off to the side away from the princess, watching the spar between their friend and old commander with a mix of nervous anticipation and enjoyment.

“If you make it a minute without falling, I’ll give you absolutely nothing but you’ll have my respect!” Sugawara says with a grin.

Sawamura laughs while Azumane takes his stance, shifting nervously.

Iwaizumi goes and sits next to Michimiya to watch with her. She greets him with a warm smile that he returns with a nod of his head, his attention on the action unfolding in front of him.

Sir Ukai is a figure of legend. Even in Aobajousai, knights dream of being as accomplished as him. He commanded Karasuno’s military forces with charisma and skill. He helped lead Karasuno and Nekoma into victory in the Ten Year War. Then, he went and started a mercenary group known throughout Karasuno. And now Iwaizumi gets to watch him fight? Even if it’s just a light morning spar, Iwaizumi would never pass up this opportunity.

Azumane wields a lance while Sir Ukai uses a sword, which he rests on his shoulder, his other hand on his hip, his body open, like they aren’t sparing at all.

“Your move,” Sir Ukai says with a grin, not moving his sword from his shoulder.

Azumane changes his grip, pointing his lance at Sir Ukai, who still does not move into a defensive position.

Is he just going to stand there?

Azumane makes the first move. Sir Ukai dodges gracefully, simply moving one foot and pivoting on the other to turn his upper body, not bothering to counterattack.

“I heard you came over on a boat,” Sir Ukai says, stepping to the side when Azumane thrusts his lance forward again. “I’m surprised. When I first met you, just a glimpse of the ocean was enough to set you off.”

Azumane hesitates. “What was I supposed to do? Let my fear get the best of me?”

Sir Ukai shrugs. “You could’ve.”

“I wouldn’t.”

The old knight grins. “Nah, you wouldn’t,” he says in agreement.

The next time Azumane pushes his lance towards Sir Ukai, the knight dodges once more. But instead of drawing back his weapon like all the times before, Azumane jerks it to the side, planning to hit Sir Ukai in the gut with the length of the lance.

But even in his old age, Sir Ukai is not so slow. He grabs the pole of the lance and tugs, jerking Azumane forward and off balance. With a quick step forward, he puts his fist into Azumane’s stomach and Azumane doubles forward coughing.

“Better,” Sir Ukai says as brings his elbow down on Azumane's back. Azumane drops to his knees, practically dry heaving. “I almost had to use my sword.”

Sawamura and Sugawara are smiling and laughing, which stops when Sir Ukai points his sword at Sawamura and says, “Your turn, hot shot.”

Sawamura grimaces then sighs, resigned to his fate, and pushes himself up with the help of his large battle axe. He goes to where Azumane is still kneeled over and pats him on the back. Azumane slowly rises then goes and sits in the grass next to Sugawara, rubbing his stomach while Sugawara laughs. 

Iwaizumi has spared with Sawamura before and knows he’s a strong fighter. But that doesn’t mean he’s equal to Sir Ukai. Sawamura puts up a good fight but is on his back after a few minutes, panting. He had lasted far longer than Azumane and Sir Ukai had to use his sword, which seems to be an achievement. Sugawara had cheered when Sir Ukai finally pulled out his sword. 

Sawamura gets to his feet more quickly than Azumane and readies his axe.

“Again,” he says, panting with effort, steel in his eyes.

Sir Ukai grins. “Later. I don’t have as much energy as I used to and I want to get through all of you.”

Sawamura reluctantly lowers his weapon.

“Your turn,” Sir Ukai says, pointing his sword at Sugawara.

“No, no, no,” Sugawara says, waving his hands and shaking his head. “I’m a _healer_.”

Sawamura grins and grabs Sugawara by the arm, tugging him up, and drags him to his feet. Sugawara digs his feet into the ground, refusing to move, but Sawamura gets behind him and starts pushing while Azumane laughs from the sideline.

“You can do it!” Azumane says.

“I hate you both!” Sugawara replies. “I’m never healing you again!”

Sawamura releases him when he’s in front of Sir Ukai. Azumane throws Sugawara’s staff to Sawamura, who catches it flawlessly and hands it over to Sugawara. His staff is simple, similar to what the healers used in Aobajousai, as rare as they were. Aobajousai preferred apothecaries and physicians to magical healers. The staff is made of light-colored wood with a large crystal orb at the top that may be quartz or, however unlikely, diamond.

“Good luck,” Sawamura says with a shit-eating grin, patting him on the shoulder then walking away.

Instead of going to sit with Azumane, Sawamura comes over and splays out in the grass next to Michimiya, with his back in the grass and shirt rucked up towards his belly button. The sun peeks through in small pockets, part of him glowing and others darkened by the shade.

She smiles warmly at the sight of him grinning up at her. She asks, “Are you alright?” 

“He used to hit harder,” Sawamura replies cheekily.

“Is Sugawara going to be alright with just his staff?” Iwaizumi asks.

Sawamura is smiling so hard it has to hurt. “He’ll be fine.”

“Like you were fine?” Michimiya taunts playfully. Iwaizumi grins, something about this familiar enough to ease away the bad memories.

“Yeah,” Sawamura laughs.

Unlike with Sawamura and Azumane, Sir Ukai does not let Sugawara strike first. The knight moves quickly and draws his sword so fast that Iwaizumi almost doesn’t see it.

But Sugawara does. He brings his staff up, holding it horizontal, bracing against the blow with both hands on the staff.

Again and again, Sir Ukai swings his sword and Sugawara blocks each strike, but he’s being pushed back. Each time he blocks, he takes a step back, getting closer and closer to the edge of the grass.

As Sir Ukai draws back his sword to strike again, Sugawara throws his staff to the side and reaches down to his thighs. There he reaches into two holsters and draws out two long twin daggers and crosses the blades in front of him to stop Sir Ukai’s next swing.

“Nice,” Sir Ukai praises with a grin. “You’re faster on the draw. But not fast enough.”

Sir Ukai faints with a swing and when Sugawara goes to block it, Sir Ukai rams forward, shoving his shoulder hard against him and knocking him off balance. 

Before Sugawara’s head smashes into the cobblestone, Sir Ukai reaches out and grabs ahold of his wrist, holding him at an angle just before he fell.

Sugawara sighs in relief. “I thought my head was going to split like a tomato.”

Sir Ukai pulls him to his feet and pats him on the back. “Not today, kid.”

Sugawara sighs again and puts his knives back in their holsters. As Sugawara walks off, Sir Ukai points his blade at Iwaizumi.

“Your turn, Sir Iwaizumi of Aobajousai,” Sir Ukai says and it’s a strange mixture of respect and mocking. “Been awhile since I fought a knight of Aobajousai. Is Irihata still around?”

Iwaizumi stands, walking over. “He retired after I was knighted. He said he trained father and son and could do no more for his kingdom.”

Sir Ukai grins slowly. “You’re Iwaizumi Hayato’s son, then, the late king’s knight and the old head of the Royal Guard.”

“Yes,” Iwaizumi confirms, standing before the hero of legend. “All those titles, all the stories, and yet my father died like any other man.”

Sir Ukai readies his blade. Iwaizumi does the same.  

Should he attack first? Sir Ukai waited for Azumane and Sawamura to move, but will he do the same for Iwaizumi, who he has never seen fight? Sir Ukai had the benefit of knowing how Azumane, Sawamura, and Sugawara fight and though his knowledge seemed outdated, it clearly helped him in anticipating their attacks.

He does not have that advantage over Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi is going to exploit it.   

Iwaizumi strikes first. He’s not surprised when Sir Ukai blocks his blow with ease.

Quickly, Iwaizumi strikes again and again. Each blow is blocked and Iwaizumi begins to search for openings and finding none. Sir Ukai is only ever close enough to try and land a blow then backs off.

So the next time Sir Ukai move forward to strike him, Iwaizumi dodges then rams the hilt of his sword into Sir Ukai’s side, just beneath his ribs. Sir Ukai coughs and doubles, but keeps moving. He grabs ahold of Iwaizumi’s wrist, holding him in place, and brings his knee up into Iwaizumi’s stomach then kicks his feet out from under him.

Iwaizumi is knocked back off his feet and feels the hard thump of the ground beneath him and the soft grass against the exposed skin on the back of his neck. There's the tip of a sword at his neck and he stares down the long expanse of steel up at the knight of legend.

“Not bad, kid,” Sir Ukai says, drawing back his sword. “Not bad at all.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and laughs, not sure why. He drops his sword then rubs his face with his hands. When he removes them, he sees Sir Ukai holding out a hand.

He takes it.

 

* * *

 

Nekomata holds the meeting in what was once called the War Room, though dust had settled in the nooks and crannies since the Ten Year War ended forty years ago. The servants did their best to sweep and dust, but some of it still lingered on the clasps of some of pieces of armor on the walls and in the creases of the large circular table that’s low to the ground with pillows around it, like the table they had dined at.

In the center of the table is a map of the continent, including the Isle of Fukurodani and the uninhabited realm of ice to the far north that no man has ever explored. Iwaizumi has never seen a map quite like it. It has military forts and shipment routes, and marks areas with heavy rain and mountains with frequent avalanches. He wonders how up to date the map is. Making maps isn’t easy or cheap. If it is up to date, it is an invaluable tool. 

Nekomata and Sir Ukai look at ease in this room, like it’s a second home. Here, they had planned defenses and assaults for the Ten Year War. Here, history was made.

They sit around the table, Sawamura next to Michimiya near Nekomata and Sir Ukai. Iwaizumi is further down the table, mixed in with the mercenaries. Despite the big reveal last night, no one objects to sitting next to him, at least not verbally. He ends up between Sugawara and Kageyama, who, as far as Iwaizumi knows, hasn’t revealed that he knew Iwaizumi’s secret all along. Revealing that secret would mean having to explain how he knew Iwaizumi in the first place and he doesn’t think Kageyama is ready to share those details just yet, if ever. It's the kind of secret that would ruin whatever trust these men have in him. 

Kenma comes in followed someone Iwaizumi does not recognize. Not a servant judging by their armor, made of worn but sturdy leather, vambraces up and down their arms and metal greaves over top their knee-high boots. There are several faces Iwaizumi doesn’t recognize. Some in armor and others in robes similar to Kenma, likely other mages. They must be the tribal leaders Nekomata mentioned last night at the feast. Then, in the shadows, there is Yaku, watching silently.

When they have all settled in, Nekomata says, “Nekoma is made up of ten tribes. The nine men and one woman before you represent their respective tribes. Before you are Lords Kai, Yamamoto, Fukunaga, Inuoka, Shibayama, Naoi, Teshiro, Inoue, and Watanabe as well as Lady Haiba.”

Michimiya bows her head. “Thank you all for coming. I and my kingdom thank you.”

“You’re quite pretty, aren’t you?” the sole woman, Lady Haiba, says.

“Let’s start already,” Sir Ukai grumbles. “Enough with the politics and flirting.”

“It’s all politics, Ikkei,” Nekomata says with a grin. “But, yes, let us begin. We are gathered here today to discuss two important matters. The fall of Karasuno and the future of Nekoma. Nekoma is Karasuno’s only true ally at the moment. I know the late king was friendly with faraway kingdoms and there was talk about your marriage to a foreign prince, but there is no formal alliance with any of them. We must act on the assumption that they will not come to your aide.”

“I am aware,” Michimiya says. “I am also aware Nekoma does not have an army capable of taking on Aobajousai.”

“Wait,” Hinata says, confused, “wasn’t Nekoma in a big war a while ago? How did you fight then?”

“In times of peace,” Lord Kai says, “each tribe is relatively independent. We follow the laws of the kingdom, but we have our own cultures and sub-laws.  During the Ten Year War, each tribe provided mages and soldiers to form a makeshift army.”

Nekomata nods in confirmation. “Many men were lost and the current generation’s population is quite low as a result. Now, there aren’t enough trained bodies to form an army capable of defeating Aobajousai’s forces. They would outnumber us five to one, at best.”

“But you have _mages_!” Hinata argues.

“You’re overestimating mages,” Tsukishima grumbles.

“And underestimating Aobajousai’s army,” Iwaizumi adds. “They have thirty thousand soldiers excluding any civilians they may have forcefully recruited.”

“The average mage is capable of taking on two soldiers at a time,” Nekomata informs Hinata calmly. “Mages are also vulnerable to attacks when casting spells since it requires a great amount of focus. Very few are strong enough to do large scale damage and the few we had were defeated in the war.”

Hinata looks to Kenma, but before he can ask the obvious, Nekomata goes on, “Kenma’s magic is the strongest in the world, but his strongest spells would also take out our own forces. Our loses would be worse than Aobajousai’s, if he were to take to the battlefield.”

Hinata sinks down in his seat, out of questions.

“What if Aobajousai decides to attack Nekoma next?” Ukai asks.

“Aobajousai will have no easy time getting in,” Nekomata replies. “It took Shiratorizawa three years to establish a path large enough for an army to cross through the mountains into Nekoma. I am not immediately concerned for Nekoma’s safety, though we will certainly increase the number of ships at sea and soldiers patrolling the mountain paths. Until Aobajousai decides to attack us directly, we must provide aid to the princess.”

“You sound like you have a plan already,” Iwaizumi comments.

“You’ve got to make a new ally, Princess,” Sir Ukai says, like it’s obvious.

Iwaizumi runs through the available nearby kingdoms.

Datetech has always been neutral and likely will remain that way. That leaves two other options.

First, there is the Isle of Fukurodani. Iwaizumi has never met anyone from Fukurodani, but he has heard tales of them. Some call them sub-humans. Savage shapeshifters whose leader is elected by combat. Only the strongest can survive. Neighbor killing neighbor, friend killing friend. Even if they could convince Fukurodani to help Karasuno, there’s no telling how many soldiers they could provide. No one has ever drawn an accurate map of Fukurodani and no one knows how many live on the island.

That leaves the Shiratorizawa Empire. The land of Shiratorizawa is larger than the size of Aobajousai and their army is just as impressive, if not more so. They have foot soldiers that are trained like knights, pegasus riders to protect the skies from Fukurodani beasts, and warrior monks that travel to the talk to the gods.

“Shiratorizawa?” Michimiya asks, coming to the same conclusion as him.

“The empire Karasuno and Nekoma fought against in the Ten Year War?” Yamaguchi asks, shocked.

“It’s our best chance,” Sir Ukai confirms. He sighs heavily, though. “Getting that old coot to agree to help is the issue. He was the leader that the gods supposedly told to wage war against Nekoma fifty years ago.”

“How is someone that old still alive?” Kageyama asks, brows pinched together as he tries to do mental math.

“He was hardly twenty when he declared war,” Sir Ukai says. “We were all young, back in those days.”

“You don’t have a sigil or crest to prove your heritage, do you?” Nekomata asks with a glance at the princess. Michimiya shakes her head. Nekomata frowns deeply. “Then we will have to go about this differently.”

“Once a month, the emperor hears all grievances,” Sir Ukai explains. “If the issue is worth looking into, he assigns the task to a monk who goes on a journey to talk to the gods. Depending on the gods’ answer, the empire will respond to the grievance. We can’t do shit about the god part, but we can get you to see the emperor.”

“So even if we make a good case, there’s no way of knowing if they’ll help until some monk returns?” Tsukishima asks. “That doesn’t sound like a good plan.”

“It might be the only option,” tribal leader Fukunaga says quietly.  

“Women, even royal women, cannot speak to the emperor without first being introduced by a man,” Nekomata says.

“Ridiculous,” Lady Haiba scoffs.

“I know, I know,” Nekomata concedes. “Very old fashioned.”

“I do not agree with such a tradition, but I will do what I must,” Michimiya says, determination in her eyes that makes both Iwaizumi and Sawamura beam with pride. No one else seems to notice her gaze, how strong it is. She understands how she must fight and fight she will, until her dying breath.

“Iwaizumi may be a good choice to introduce her,” Sir Ukai says, studying the Aobajousai knight. “You’re the one that got her out of Miyagi, after all.”

“Why can’t you go?” the younger Ukai asks. “You’ve met Emperor Washijou before, haven’t you?”

Sir Ukai grunts. “That was a long time ago. I doubt that old man remembers me.”

Nekomata laughs. “He’s too stubborn to say his health won’t allow it. He’ll never make the journey, not as he is now, unless you’re willing to wait a few weeks to see if he recovers.”

“It’s that bad, huh?” Ukai asks quietly, casting his grandfather a concerned look. His grandfather says nothing. Ukai sighs. “We can’t wait weeks. The enemy has to know we’re here. We can’t sit around waiting for their entire army to come and attack us.”

“Then Iwaizumi is the best choice,” Sir Ukai says.

“How will we get there?” Sawamura asks. “Through the mountains?”

Kenma shakes his head. “The mountains are made of magic.”

“What does that mean?” Hinata asks, sounding almost eager for the answer, large child-like eyes trained on Kenma, who seems unsure what to do with the attention. 

It is not Kenma who answers. 

“Even before Shiratorizawa invaded Nekoma,” Lord Kai begins, “there were those that wished mages harm. At the time, three of the Colored Mages resided in Nekoma. They created the mountains that surrounding this kingdom to protect us. Magic runs in the earth in those mountains and creatures feed on it. We cannot guarantee all of you would escape with your lives if you traveled through the mountains, which would make escorting the princess all the more difficult.”

“But if you take a boat, you’ll have to sail past Fukurodani,” Lord Naoi says.

“Better than going through the mountains,” Lord Kai says.

“Just kill the sub-human bastards if you see them,” Lord Yamamoto says with a grin.

There are no arguments.

“We’ll arrange a boat for you,” Nekomata says. He pulls a staff out from under the table and uses it to point on the map. “You will sail between Nekoma and Fukurodani towards Shiratorizawa, docking in this port here, then traveling by foot to the capital of Shiratorizawa, Sendai.”

“How are we paying for this?” Lady Haiba asks. “I am more than willing to help a lady in need, especially one so beautiful and strong, but what do you expect of the tribes, Lord Nekomata?”

Nekomata nods in acknowledgement. “Each tribe will contribute a set percentage. The larger tribes will clearly contribute more and smaller tribes will contribute less based on their size. I believe that to be fair. We can discuss the extract number away from our guests, who do not need to worry themselves with such things.”

There is a grumble of agreement.

“There’s one more thing we haven’t mentioned,” Ukai says. “We fought several Aobajousai soldiers at port in Karasuno. Several of the soldiers were off.”

“Off?” his grandfather says, not understanding.

“As in, get your arm cut off, don’t react, _off_ ,” Sawamura says. “It’s like the soldier didn’t feel pain.”

“Maybe half the soldiers we fought were like that,” Sugawara adds.

“An enchantment, perhaps?” Nekomata muses.

Tsukishima nods. “Their eyes were glassed over, but I didn’t see a mage around and it seemed like a strong spell. They’d have to be powerful to maintain it from a distance.”

“That is very unsettling,” Nekomata says. He looks to Kenma. “Did Kuroo have this kind of power?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to do it before he was possessed. He was well trained and had certain gifts, but never quite mastered his magic. With the demon inside of him, I don’t know what kind of magic he’s capable of. It might have made him strong enough to do long range enchantment.”

“Have our spies said anything about this?” Lord Naoi asks.

Nekomata shakes his head. “Can they still die?” he asks, meaning the soldiers.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “But injured men that feel pain are more likely to stay down than an injured man that doesn’t.”

“We will do some research into the matter and if we discover anything, we will send word,” Nekomata says. “There is a chance Kenma may be able to counteract whatever spell is being cast.”

“There’s still one more issue that needs to be addressed,” Sir Ukai says. His eyes settle on Iwaizumi. Soon, he can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze. Sir Ukai asks, “When did you betray your king?”

Iwaizumi nods; it’s a good question. Did he leave Oikawa on a whim when he saw the carnage up close, or did he make his decision early, before this all began?

“Before he started marching towards Karasuno,” Iwaizumi answers.

“What was the breaking point?” Sir Ukai presses.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “When he said he was going to march into Karasuno.”

The knight of legends crosses his arms, wanting more.

Iwaizumi does not want to think about to those days. He does not want to remember standing in that hall, Oikawa and Kuroo standing over a map of the continent and pointing out the best paths to walk along to destroy the largest villages they could on the way to Karasuno. He does not want to remember the gleam in Oikawa’s, like he was happy planning this massacre. It makes him sick to think about, even now.

He'd much rather remember the days of summer where he lounged with Oikawa and his Riders underneath the trees, surrounded by forgotten weapons and cups of wine. He wants to remember teasing Oikawa about how he needs servants to shave his face for him and Matsukawa and Hanamaki joining in, Kindaichi the only one to come to Oikawa’s defense.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Look. Oikawa’s descent into madness was slow. It kept getting worse, but he could still see reason some days, if I talked to him. He trusted me. But he didn’t see reason on Karasuno. Kuroo was mad too by that point and it was like they were feeding off each other. When Oikawa said he would kill your royal family and put their heads on spikes because he thought they would be good decorations for this throne, I put a sword to his throat and threatened to kill him where he stood.”

It was at that point that Iwaizumi knew Oikawa was not coming back, not without help. He alone could not cure Oikawa, no matter how badly he wanted to. Those days of sanity had tricked him. Those days where he wept uncontrollably about how he didn’t know what he was doing, those days where he regretted his actions, those days where Iwaizumi held him until he fell asleep…

Iwaizumi honestly thought he alone could turn Oikawa back into the man he once was, before he was king, before he went mad. He had been foolish.

“I don’t know why he didn’t kill me,” Iwaizumi goes on. “Kuroo told him to, but he didn’t. I don’t know if he was just sane enough to know it was me, or if he wanted to keep me alive so he could tell me how their heads looked on his throne. It doesn’t matter.”

Iwaizumi looks around and can see people are processing all of this. Iwaizumi makes it easy for them.

“I’m not going to run back to his side when we see him,” Iwaizumi promises. “He’s not the man I swore my life to. He’s _possessed._ And I won’t stop until he’s himself again.”

“Even if you have to kill him?” Sawamura asks.

He remembers Oikawa leaning against him, loud with laughter. He remembers hearing of the king’s death and how Oikawa had clung to him when he finally found him. He remembers that night in the hot springs and never wanting to leave.

He remembers Oikawa Tooru the man, not the demon, and it breaks his heart to know he may never see him again.

“Yeah. Even if I have to kill him.”


	9. Fukurodani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mages speak in a different language when casting spells. You can hover over the text and see a rough translation. If you forget to or can’t do this, don’t worry, it doesn’t affect the story and you can probably figure out what’s being said by what follows.

Within a week of arriving at Okyo, a ship is ready at the port. There is no flag denoting the kingdom. They cannot sail into Shiratorizawa waters with a Nekoma flag, nor can they raise a flag of Karasuno and keep the princess’ location a secret. The crew is self-sufficient, meaning the mercenaries will be guests so long as there is not any trouble.

“Except for a few, they aren’t warriors,” Lord Nekomata warns them. “We need all of our skilled fighters here to train others, should you need soldiers from Nekoma to aide you.”

“I understand your reason,” Princess Michimiya replies pleasantly. “The Ukai Mercenaries have kept me safe thus far and I have no reason to doubt them now.”

Sawamura is almost sad to leave Okyo and Nekoma as a whole. It is so different from his home, from Karasuno, but it is a peaceful kingdom filled with wonders. He has eaten foods he did not know exist and practiced with his older master and seen the princess smile easily for the first time since meeting her.

The road ahead will be long and hard, and he is not afraid, but he wishes he could remain here, suspended in time, for just a moment longer.

But they can’t stay. Each day in Nekoma is another day for Oikawa to wreak havoc on Karasuno, another day for Aobajousai forces to get closer and closer to them.

Another day that Michimiya lives in fear and despair, though she never shows it.

As the ship is loaded with the last of the cargo, the mercenaries linger on the docks.

Tsukishima talks to Yamaguchi and Yachi, whose bag grows bigger and bigger by the day. That little traveling merchant is good at what she does and Sawamura knows that if he needs something moving forward, she will help them find it. He did have reservations when she first joined, unsure if she could keep a secret this large, but having another woman around has certainly made Michimiya smile more.

Hinata is literally dragging Kageyama towards Kenma the White Mage, who appears to be looking for a place to hide and finding none, though he does shoot Iwaizumi a panicked look of consideration, as if he wants to hide behind the knight of Aobajousai.

Gods, a knight of Aobajousai. Sawamura has to admit, he never saw that one coming, partly because Michimiya herself had told them Iwaizumi was a knight of Karasuno. Iwaizumi is certainly very knightly, or what Sawamura expects of a knight in terms of skill and loyalty. The only knight he’d ever met was Sir Ukai and, well, the old man was far from “knightly.”

Sawamura laughs and talks with Sugawara and Azumane as they wait to board the ship. But suddenly, Sir Ukai puts an arm around his shoulders and steers him away from Sugawara and Azumane, who go quiet for a moment in shock then continue their conversation without Sawamura.

“Sir?” Sawamura says when they’ve stopped and Sir Ukai has removed his arm from his shoulders to place his hands on his hips.

“When I took over as Commander of Karasuno’s forces, I didn’t know how ugly a war could get.” Sir Ukai’s expression is as hard as steel. “It’s going to get ugly from here on out. You’re gonna see a lot of shit and some of it will never leave you. When you think it’s gone, it rears its ugly head again.”

Sawamura nods slowly, taking this all in, but not sure why Sir Ukai pulled him aside to say this. He should be saying this to his grandson, the commander of the mercenaries, not to Sawamura. Maybe he already gave Ukai this talk.

“You take good care of that woman, you hear?”

Sawamura frowns, confused even more by this, but nods nonetheless. That had been the plan all along: protect her. Though he supposes that’s not quite what Sir Ukai is saying, is it?

“When this is all said and done, we’ll have ourselves a proper fight, man to man,” Sir Ukai says. “Then we’ll have a drink and talk about how ugly it got out there.”

Sawamura smiles. “Yes, Sir."

Sir Ukai mirrors his smile then turns to leave, heading towards Azumane and Sugawara. Maybe he’ll give them the same talk. Maybe he won’t. Sawamura is curious but not curious enough to ask them later, though he’s sure Sugawara will bring it up.

He looks around and sees Lord Nekomata handing Michimiya something, some flat parcel wrapped in fabric. Or maybe it’s not wrapped in fabric, but something made of fabric. She smiles as she takes it, holding it against her chest as the king laughs good-heartedly at whatever overly polite thanks she gives.

He smiles and goes to see if Ukai needs any help.

 

* * *

 

The ship is smaller and faster than the last. It is not run on a skeleton crew, but the crew is never idle, always working. Iwaizumi and the mercenaries stay out of their way and they do their job well. This leaves Iwaizumi and the mercenaries with more time than they know what to do with.

More than once, Iwaizumi walks into the mess hall or men’s quarters and sees Hinata and Kenma playing a game with dice or colorful tiles or marbles. Then there is the time he walks in on Kenma trying to teach Hinata chess, which seemed to be going horribly as Hinata just wanted his knight to go and kill the king, regardless of how it was supposed to move.

The ship’s path is easy until they reach the interface of Nekoma and the Isle of Fukurodani. Those seas are more treacherous. Not just in terms of enemies, but for the crew to sail. There are sand beds and rock formations and strange currents that rest between Nekoma and Fukurodani.

When the crew begins to be on edge, it spreads to the mercenaries.

Kageyama empties his quiver into the main mast, much to the displeasure of the crew, but when they look at Kageyama to tell him to stop, they see his expression and back off. Kageyama was always like that, even in Aobajousai. It is not a scary expression, but a look of concentration that most people would not dare to interrupt.

Iwaizumi is not unaffected. He finds himself looking at the horizon, or, as the crew does, at the skies in search of the beasts from Fukurodani. He grew up hearing stories of the sub-humans that lived in Fukurodani. Scary stories kids whispered at night, or grand stories told about how a daring warrior defeated such a beast.

One day, he looks to the sky and sees such a beast. Not just one, but three large figures in the sky too large to be normal birds.

“Hey!” he calls out to the man in the crow’s nest. “Look"—shit, is that north or east; he settles for pointing—“over there!”

The man turns his telescope in the direction Iwaizumi is pointing.

“Sub-humans!” the scout bellows to the deck below.

The quartermaster grabs Iwaizumi by the shoulder and says, “Lord Nekomata told us you were warriors. Get your men and be ready for battle.”

They’re not my men, Iwaizumi wants to say, but he doesn’t have time. He nods and runs below deck to gather the others.

He finds Sugawara and Michimiya reading and sends her off below deck where the rest of the crew will be waiting for the battle to pass. He finds Sawamura and Azumane next, then Hinata and Kageyama arguing while Tsukishima eggs them on and Yamaguchi laughs. Ukai joins them, saying he ran into Michimiya, and together they take to the deck.

Three beasts circle the sky above the ship. The creatures are massive with wingspans as long as a horse and talons as large as Iwaizumi’s head. They look like regular birds only twenty times are large, the size of adult humans.

So far, they have avoided having battles while on a ship. Iwaizumi has fought many battles in his life, several in cramped spaces like hallways, but he has never fought on a ship and he has never fought a creature like that.

They may outnumber these beasts, but it will not be an easy fight. Here, the enemies come from the sky and all sides, no walls to force the flow of the enemy. The boat rocks beneath their feet but the beasts do not need to worry, the sky their ground. Their movements will not be so predictable and they will likely be too fast to properly counter. It will take three men to take down a single one, maybe more.

A skeleton crew remains on deck, just enough people to keep the ship sailing. They shift uneasily at the sight of the large beasts.

Ukai approaches the captain who stands next to wheel, ready to give out orders to his crew.

“Any chance they’ll let us pass quietly?” Ukai asks.

“Depends,” the captain replies. “Sometimes it’s just kids flying out too far by accident. But some scavenge for human ships like pirates, stealing their cargo and killing the crews. Rumor says it doesn’t help much to fight back, that they’ll kill you anyways.”

“If no one survives, then how do you know they’re responsible for attacking the ships?” Tsukishima asks critically.

“Trust me, no human can create the kind of carnage. I’ve seen ghost ships—empty vessels just floating, waiting to be found. Not a single living soul on them, covered in feathers and blood, stocks run dry. Fucking beasts, those sub-humans.”

The birds get closer, closer, closer…

Iwaizumi rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, which rests in the scabbard tied around his waist. He looks up at the sky where the three beasts circle like vultures.

Soon, the beasts are right over top them.

“Have you ever fought one of these things, Kageyama?” Hinata asks innocently, not the least bit worried by the things in the sky. Iwaizumi does not know if it is his young age, his innocence demeanor, or sheer stupidity.

Kageyama appears just as calm until Hinata asks that. Then he’s irritated. “Why would I have fought one?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked!”

Without warning, the beasts attack.

One is an owl with beautiful stripped plumage and startling black eyes. Iwaizumi doesn’t see a single spec of color, like it doesn’t have a white to its eye, only endless black. Of the remaining two beasts, one appears to be a falcon and the other a hawk.

The three birds dive. 

Iwaizumi draws his blade as the hawk comes right at him. He holds his blade parallel, one hand on the hilt and the other gloved hand on the blade, the creature’s deadly sharp talons curving around the metal as they meet. The creature does not pull back, but pushes forward, as if trying to knock Iwaizumi down.

Iwaizumi meets its eyes and grins at the challenge of strength.

Iwaizumi shoves forward with all his might and the creature releases its talons, flying off with a cry.  

Kageyama shoots at the owl that dives towards him and Hinata. The arrow clips its wings but it does not stop diving. Hinata and Kageyama roll to the side and the creature swoops back up in an arch.

The falcon goes for Ukai. Before the sub-human can get within striking distance, Ukai stabs his lance into the air and shouts, frightening the creature into pulling back.

But the birds do not stay in the air for long.

Their next attack is out of sync. 

The hawk dives towards Azumane. Its talons just barely craze Azumane's shoulder, but its enough to rip through his leather pauldron. Azumane stabs his spear towards the bird, piercing its wing, but he doesn't hit the bone that supports the structure, just puncturing the feathers and pissing off the creature. 

The owls dives at Hinata again. Kageyama and Yamaguchi let their arrows fly, some clipping their wings, but not sticking. Hinata readies his sword, bracing for attack.

But at the last minute, the owl swerves and rams its massive body into Yamaguchi, sending him back, sprawling over the edge of the rail and into the harsh sea below.

Tsukishima runs to the side of the deck faster than Iwaizumi has ever seen the man move. Hinata is there, too, crying out Yamaguchi’s name while Kageyama shouts, “Hinata, you idiot, don’t drop your guard!”

Tsukishima takes several steps back and says, “Hinata, watch my back, or I’ll kill you.”

Hinata nods seriously, readies his sword, and watches the beasts in the sky.

Tsukishima holds out his staff with both hands and chants, "Forsċieppe þá brim!"

Iwaizumi does not see the water form a column but he does see the water rise over the side of the deck and Tsukishima lunge forward to grab Yamaguchi before the column breaks and the water returns to its natural shape.

Soaked to the bone, Yamaguchi sputters, rolling onto his side on the deck and coughing.

Seeing Tsukishima’s magic makes Iwaizumi realize someone is missing from this fight.

He makes sure he’s not in any immediate danger then turns to Sawamura and Ukai and says, “We need Kenma. He can hold these things off better than we can.”

“I’ll get him,” Ukai says. “You and Sawamura lead the defense while I’m gone.”

Iwaizumi and Sawamura nod, and Ukai runs off, disappearing behind a door that leads below deck.

“I’ll take the quarterdeck with Azumane and Sugawara,” Sawamura says. “You watch over Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t question if Azumane and Sawamura can hold the quarterdeck by themselves. He’s seen both men fight at this point and they have more experience than Hinata, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi combined. Kageyama may be the exception, but Kageyama has always been a wildcard and he’s a wildcard Iwaizumi knows well.

“Asahi, Suga, with me!” Sawamura calls out, running towards the quarterdeck.

But before the others can join his side, the beasts attack.

The owl dives towards Kageyama, who rolls and draws his bow in the follow through, his movements fluid and easy. Hinata runs towards him while Tsukishima readies his staff, but the owl is focused in on Kageyama to pay attention to Hinata's sword or Tsukishima's magic. 

At the same time, the hawk swoops down from a sharp angle, crying out as it dives towards Sawamura, who cannot attack an enemy above him with an axe so large. Sawamura braces, hands gripped tight around the hilt of his axe, waiting for his chance.

It doesn’t come. Too fast to dodge, the bird digs its talons deep into his shoulders, one on each shoulder.

Sawamura lets out a horrendous cry that tugs at Iwaizumi’s gut. He drops his axe to grasp hopelessly at the beast’s talons, trying to pry them out and failing. His legs flail as the beast lifts him up into the air, kicking back and forth to try and dislodge himself.

Iwaizumi curses, wondering if Sawamura too is going to be thrown in to the sea like Yamaguchi. He turns to run towards Sawamura and the beast.

He thinks of throwing his sword at the creature. He decides on his dagger instead, pulling it from the holster on his thigh and aiming it at the bird. He is not Oikawa’s equal when it comes to archery or throwing daggers, but he can hit his mark. Maybe if he can bury a dagger in that creature’s core, it will release Sawamura before he is ripped apart.

But he does not need to. Azumane throws his lance like a javelin. It clips its wing and the creature shrieks, startled, dropping Sawamura, who falls to the deck with a painful thump. He lands awkwardly, struggling to push himself up, but Azumane is there to help.

The lancer puts pressure on the gaping symmetrical wounds while Sawamura tries to help, his hands slipping in his own blood.

“Suga!” Azumane roars, his voice booming.

In a moment, the healer is there, kneeling next to his friend and comrade. His expression is not concerned but focused. Healers of any kind—physician, apothecary, or magic healers like Sugawara—do not have the time for concern.

Sugawara holds his staff over Sawamura’s wounds, says a spell, and the white crystal on the top glows a pale yellow.

A crash from behind Iwaizumi has him whirling around, expecting an attack from behind but seeing nothing, only the door that leads to the steps being flung open.

Ukai has returned, holding the door open for Kenma, who comes rushing out.

Kenma takes a second to analyze the battle. Two of the three creatures are high in the sky, circling, planning, while the owl with black eyes is trying to get close to Kageyama without being shot by his arrows or stabbed by Hinata.

Kenma lifts his wooden staff into the sky and shouts, "Blæst!"

Gusts of wind whip around them like a storm. The wind is so strong it dries Iwaizumi’s eyes and pushes at his hair. It curls upward, pushing the two beasts higher into the sky, keeping them at bay.

The only one not caught up in the wind storm is the black-eyed owl. It lands on the edge of the ship, talons digging through the wood and ripping it to pieces.

“Kageyama!” Iwaizumi calls. Without question, without hesitation, Kageyama runs to his side and draws his bow.

He remembers calling Kageyama’s name alongside Kunimi and Kindaichi’s. He remembers Kageyama finally laughing with them after practice. He remembers late nights in the library, teaching Kageyama to read and write. He remembers Kageyama bowing every time Oikawa showed up, no matter how much shit Hanamaki and Matsukawa gave him, no matter how many times Iwaizumi told him he didn’t have to do that, not here, not in front of them.

Now is not the time to reminisce.

“Hinata, watch Kenma’s back,” Iwaizumi orders.

Hinata must only be thinking of the battle because he does not question why Iwaizumi is giving out orders. He nods and runs towards Kenma, guarding him while he maintains the wind spell.

“It’s fast,” Kageyama warns Iwaizumi, eyes on the beastly owl. “You can hardly see it move.”

“You know what to do, don’t you?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kageyama nods. “Until it Breaks.”

Iwaizumi startles at hearing House Oikawa’s words.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi confirms, regaining his composure and grinning. “Until it Breaks.”

Just as Iwaizumi prepares to charge forward, there is another crash, the door opening again.

“Stop!” Yachi cries. “Come back—it’s dangerous out here!”

Iwaizumi can’t help but turn and see what is happening, knowing Kageyama will keep his eye trained on the owl beast. Kageyama always focused solely on the enemy, solely on defeating them. That was his problem. That was his downfall. Iwaizumi is sure that hasn’t changed.

Yachi comes tumbling out from the door. There, from the side of the ship, having probably snuck out the windows below deck, is her owl.

It flies up into the skies and to the middle of deck. Then, suddenly, it is no longer an owl, but a man.

Iwaizumi only catches glimpses of its quick, seamless transformation. One second, its wings have feathers, the next they are long, muscular arms covered by a leather vambraces. Its sharp talons turn seamlessly into sandal clad feet. The Owl Man wears a mustard yellow vest open at his chest, baring skin covered in white scars, some thick, others so thin Iwaizumi only sees them when they catch just right in the sun.

The only things that are still owl-like about the man are his peculiar yellow eyes and his hair, which retains the black and white striations of the feathers.

“My owl is a _boy_?” Yachi shouts.

“Shouldn’t you be more surprised your owl is a person?” Yamaguchi asks in disbelief. He is still soaked to the bone from his dip in the ocean, but appears fine otherwise.

“Oh, you’re so tiny, Yachi!” the Owl Man says. He runs over and hugs Yachi, lifting her off the ground, her figure completely dwarfed in their embrace. Her arms are trapped at her sides and her legs kick helplessly as the man hugs her like a dear friend.

One of the beasts high in the sky calls out and the Owl Man pulls back, like he suddenly remembered where he was. He carefully sets Yachi’s feet back on the deck, brushes her hair down, and then tilts his head to the sky.

“Stop!” the Owl Man demands of the beasts. Then he looks over at the owl perched on the edge of the deck, the one Kageyama is ready to shoot full of arrows, and holds out his hand, palm flat towards the owl, a clear signal to stop.

The large owl hoots several times.

“Captain,” Kageyama says quietly, unsure what to do. No one else hears him say it.

“Hold,” Iwaizumi orders him as he lowers his own sword to approach the Owl Man.

“I didn’t know sub-humans could transform into birds that small,” Tsukishima says. “Or are you just weak?”

The Owl Man turns and looks at Tsukishima, his eyes wide and dangerous. “Don’t call me a sub-human, Tsuki.”

Tsukishima glares. “Don’t call me Tsuki.”

“Then what _should_ we call you?” Hinata asks.

The large owl with black eyes in front of Kageyama plunges forward. Kageyama fires his arrow but the owl is fast, just like he said. It tilts its body just enough to avoid the arrow and comes to a rapid halt, flapping its wings to stop. Its wings are strong enough to create gusts of wind but compared to Kenma’s spell, the wind is weak and hardly noticeable.

Then, they too change into a human. Their striped feathers turn into layers of neutral colored robes and tunics, some decorated with intricate symbols and others plain. The robes swallow his arms and legs, hiding his figure. He looks nothing like the warrior Owl Man, who is covered in scars. He looks like an aristocrat of a city.

“Halt!” Ukai shouts and the mercenaries lower their weapons, but not their guards. Their bodies are tense, ready to raise their steel and bows and staves, ready to fight.

“Lord Bokuto,” the second man greets the first, dropping to his knee on the deck.

“Lord?” Tsukishima asks unpleasantly. “You beasts have _lords_?”

“Would you like me to kill him?” the second man asks, rising to his feet, eyes trained on Tsukishima. His eyes are black like the owl’s had been, not a single speck of color, not even the whites of his eyes visible. He hardly looks human.

He _isn’t_ human, Iwaizumi thinks.

Iwaizumi feels a shiver roll up his spine at how calm the man is about the proposal, how matter-of-fact he asks this, like he’s talking about what they’re going to be eating. Did the people of Fukurodani eat humans when they were in their bird states? Iwaizumi heard rumors they did.

Bokuto just grins and shakes his head. He casually walks over to Tsukishima and tosses an arm around his shoulders, and no matter how much Tsukishima squirms or pushes at his chest, he won’t move. He’s strong, whoever he is.

“Tsuki just doesn’t understand. Most people on the mainland have never met us.” Bokuto looks at Tsukishima. “We’re called changelings, not sub-humans.”

“That’s not what they call you in all the songs and stories,” Tsukishima replies. He shoves hard at Bokuto and he finally manages to stumble away.

“But it’s what we like to be called. Don’t call us sub-human. It makes us angry. And you won’t be able to win against me when I’m angry.” Bokuto grins widely and laughs from his belly. “You won’t be able to win against me at all, with that magic of yours. You’re so weak, Tsuki!”

Tsukishima’s jaw tightens.

Ukai steps forward before Tsukishima can reply and says, “You’re clearly from Fukurodani. What do you want with us?”

The man in the robes tilts his head and then points at Bokuto, like that’s obvious. “I’m here to bring this person home.”

“Why do you want my owl?” Yachi asks.

Bokuto smiles broadly at her.

“Because as of two months ago, he’s our king,” Akaashi says and Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s happy about that or not. His black eyes give no indication what he is thinking.

Fukurodani’s leaders are picked by combat, Iwaizumi recalls hearing. Every year, the current leader takes on all challengers. It is a blood bath, an uncivilized ritual from an uncivilized society. If Bokuto is their leader, he is arguably the strongest on the island.

Why? Iwaizumi wonders. Why would a changeling and a ruler of a realm act as a pet?

“He disappeared after taking the throne and didn’t tell anyone where he was going,” Akaashi says, his gaze on Bokuto. He sounds exhausted.

“But I need to find her, Akaashi!” Bokuto shouts, his body animated. “It’s been two years now.”

Akaashi frowns. “Lord Bokuto, I don’t know if—”

“She’s not dead! I would know if she’s dead, okay?”

“Okay,” Akaashi says quietly, sympathetically. “But you beat the last king. You have responsibilities now. If you want to search for her, send out others. You can’t disappear for months like this and expect people to follow you.”

“I don’t care if they follow me,” Bokuto replies brazenly. “I just want to find her.”

“Then why did you bother defeating the old king?” Tsukishima asks. “Don’t you people elect your leader by brute strength?”

Bokuto looks at him, blinking slowly. “Isn’t it obvious? I did it because I wanted to prove that I could beat him. What other reason would there be?”

Tsukishima laughs cruelly. “You really are a simple-minded idiot, aren’t you?”

“Who are you looking for?” Yachi asks kindly.

“My sister,” Bokuto says. “Well, she’s _like_ my sister. We grew up together. She’s a white owl, a really rare type of changeling. She flew off one day to see the mainland and never came back. But I know she’s alive. She’s strong, like me.”

Yachi’s shoulders drop as she relaxes. “That’s so sweet. But why did you travel with me if you were looking for someone? I’m not your sister, am I? Am I an owl? Can I be an owl without knowing I’m an owl? Is that why I like my meat really rare? Oh gods, would I enjoy eating a _rat_?

Bokuto laughs. “No, you’re not a changeling like us, but you helped me out! And you were traveling so I decided to travel with you and see if I could find her along the way. I never thought I’d end up following the princess of Karasuno, though.”

Akaashi does double take, staring at Yachi, who waves her hands wildly and flushes red.

“No, no—not _me_ ,” Yachi says. “The princess is below deck.”

Akaashi sighs. “Lord Bokuto, what have you gotten yourself into? Our laws forbid us from interfering with the politics of the mainland.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Akaashi seems to believe that, but doesn’t look happy about it.

“Can you call off the ones still in the sky?” Iwaizumi asks, glancing up at the two birds circling the ship.

“I can, if the mage here can lower his enchantment,” Akaashi says, looking to Kenma.

Kenma hesitantly lowers his staff, the spell breaking. Now, there is no longer a strong wind keeping the beasts—no, the _changelings_ away.

Akaashi brings two fingers to his mouth and lets out a rhythmic whistle. The birds swoop down, shrinking in size, and perch themselves on Akaashi’s shoulders—the falcon on his left, the hawk on the right. They look like birds you would find the forest, the same size Bokuto had been when he had been Yachi’s pet.

Bokuto walks over and looks at the birds, greeting them, “Komi, Washio! Good to see you guys.”

“Whoa,” Hinata says, hurrying forward to look at the two small birds. “They changed size so quickly. That’s awesome!”

Bokuto tosses an arm over Hinata’s shoulder, grinning. “We can change our bodies at will. Watch.”

He crosses his eyes as if focusing and his nose becomes a beak. Hinata laughs wildly. Kageyama shuffles, seeming to find it cool as well, but not wanting to say it.

Ukai rubs the bridge of his nose. “Can we have a conversation below deck? I need a drink and a smoke. And it looks like Sugawara needs to tend to Sawamura properly.”

Akaashi nods. “Yes, I believe we have some things to clear up.” He clicks his tongue a rather peculiar way and the two birds fly off his shoulders, going to rest on the crow’s nest.

 

* * *

 

Below deck, Sugawara takes Sawamura to another room to properly tend to his wounds. Battlefield healing, he said, is not the most delicate thing. It is a temporary fix and the wounds will begin to bleed again without proper tending. Azumane joins them even though he’s not injured.

The rest of them sit in the mess hall, a tiny room with a long table with too many chairs. A few members of the crew from Nekoma lean against the walls with their arms crossed, watching Akaashi and Bokuto with cautious eyes. Lord Nekomata says these men had sailed these seas many times. They probably have reservations against having two “sub-humans” below deck, but they do not say anything, not even the captain.

“First, I apologize for any trouble Lord Bokuto has given you,” Akaashi begins. Bokuto squawks at that. Akaashi looks to Michimiya. “Princess Michimiya, I presume? It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Akaashi, Beast Master of Fukurodani.”

Michimiya bows her head slightly. “You as well. May I ask what your position entails? My knowledge on Fukurodani culture is very limited. Very few texts accurately represent your people.”

“Of course. As Beast Master, I am second in command of the warriors of Fukurodani. When our king or queen is gone”—he gives Bokuto a sharp look—“for all intents and purposes, I am left in charge.”

“I told you, I was looking for Yukie!” Bokuto says.

Akaashi does not respond. “Why is the princess of Karasuno so far away from home?”

“Aobajousai invaded Karasuno and took Miyagi, our capital,” she explains. Under the table, Iwaizumi sees her hands curl into fists, her frustration and sorrow hidden from the rest. “We are headed towards Shiratorizawa to seek their aide.”

“I didn’t think Karasuno had any formal ties to Shiratorizawa,” Akaashi says. “But our information on the mainland is outdated as well in many places.”

“Our ally, the kingdom of Nekoma, is unable to provide the forces necessary to face Aobajousai’s army. The Shiratorizawa Empire is our only hope.”

Ukai sits at the end of the table, smoking strong smelling tobacco and rubbing his forehead like a tense old man. He looks halfway to a heart attack, or shouting, or perhaps both.

“We can’t bring a changeling into Shiratorizawa,” Ukai says tersely. “It’s dangerous enough bringing three magic users. Now that we know what you are, Lord Bokuto, we cannot allow you to travel with us.”

“Wait, why?” Hinata asks.

“Just as magic is illegal, changelings are forbidden from even entering the skies of Shiratorizawa,” Ukai explains. “They created a section of their army known as the pegasus riders just to combat changelings.”

Akaashi nods in confirmation. “We changelings have no desire to enter Shiratorizawa, either. There are those that hunt us to sell our feathers or sell us like slaves.”

“But slavery is illegal in Shiratorizawa,” Yachi says.

“Human slaves, yes. To them, we are not human. We are sub-human.”

“People have slaves everywhere, anyways,” Kenma mutters. “You just don’t see them.”

Yachi sighs, her shoulders dropping, clearly unhappy. Yamaguchi pats her shoulder comfortingly and she flushes a faint red.

“You look human enough,” Kageyama says. “Can’t you go by foot?”

Tsukishima looks shocked that Kageyama suggested something so reasonable. “Do you actually have a brain, then?”

“Shut up!”

“Our eyes can’t change,” Bokuto says, pointing to his yellow eyes. “Depending on the type of changeling, this can be a problem. Like Akaashi!”

Iwaizumi looks back Akaashi’s wet black eyes. He looks more like a monster of legend than a human with those eyes.

“If I am forced to the mainland, I must close my eyes and feign blindness,” Akaashi says. “Luckily, owls have very good hearing.”

“I’m going with them, Akaashi,” Bokuto declares, no room for argument.

“I just said you aren’t,” Ukai retorts.

Akaashi frowns. “You speak for your princess?”

Ukai coughs on the smoke from his stick of paper-wrapped tobacco. “No, no,” he insists, waving his hand.

“Yet you made a decision without consulting her,” Akaashi says. “Why do you speak for her? She is above you, is she not?”

Michimiya does not seem to know what to say. Neither does Ukai.

Bokuto puts his hands on the table and stands, then announces, “I’m going,” with all the power and say of a true king.

Iwaizumi sighs and looks at Ukai, who clearly does not want another party involved but seems to understand they cannot turn down the king of an island without causing some sort of trouble. Besides, what could they do to stop Bokuto? Try and kill him? That would cause another war they are not equipped to fight. Plead to Akaashi? It seems the Beast Master has little control over Bokuto in the end. For better or for worse, the king of Fukurodani does not seem so easily controlled.

Before Ukai or Michimiya can say anything on the matter, the door opens and Sugawara walks in with a smile. “Does anyone else have injuries that need tending? I’ve finished with Sawamura.”

“And?” Michimiya prompts. “Will he be alright?”

“He’ll be sore for a few days, but my magic made sure there won’t be any serious damage. He’s got some poppy milk in him if anyone needs entertainment.” Sugawara looks around the room, seeming to sense the atmosphere. More seriously, he asks, “What have I missed?”

“It seems we are joining you,” Akaashi says. Then, he looks at Michimiya and says, “If the princess will have us,” with a pleasant smile.

“Joining us would mean joining our cause,” Michimiya says. “Are you suggesting Fukurodani will side with Karasuno?”

“I don’t know about that,” Bokuto muses, sitting back down. “But I’ll protect you, Princess, if the time comes. Is that enough?”

Michimiya looks to Ukai, who shrugs, then to Iwaizumi, who says, “It’s your life on the line.”

She looks to Akaashi and Bokuto and says, “That is enough.”

 

* * *

 

Sugawara’s battlefield medicine had stalled the bleeding, but the wounds are still open until they get below deck and he stitches them shut with a proper spell that takes more time and focus than the battlefield allows. Sugawara rubs a smelly salve thick as paste, or horse dung, along the closed wounds. Sugawara is not a trained apothecary—he can only make the most basic of salves and tonics—but he has picked up enough to keep the mercenaries in one piece.

Sawamura is forced to sit up right as Sugawara wraps him in bandages, thin white strips of fabric that itch horribly. The bandages wind around his upper arms, his shoulders, and his upper torso, and Sawamura wonders if Sugawara intends to make him into a mummy.

When Sugawara is done, he goes to see if anyone else needs help with more minor wounds and leaves him in the sick bay. Azumane leaves with him and Sawamura does not blame him for it. Injuries and boats never mix well with Azumane.

Sawamura sits by himself, looking around the tiny room. It’s one of the few places where there are actual beds instead of hammocks. Like the hammocks, the small beds are suspended so they can move freely with the ship, more wooden boxes than an actual bed frame.

He is not sure how long he is alone, content to doze off. He has a small amount of poppy milk in him, not enough to make him delirious, but enough to make everything fuzzy and warm in a way that reminds him of home for some weird reason. He can almost smell the strawberries over the salt spray of the ocean, can almost hear his younger siblings whispering in hushed voices outside his door, planning something nefarious.

He has not been homesick in quite some time and the memories are both a comfort and a torment.

He thinks he half-imagines it when he hears a knock on the door. When it happens again, louder this time, he calls back, “Come in?” unsure if he had heard a voice at all.

When Princess Michimiya comes inside, he moves to sit up, wincing and hissing, and she is quick to come to his side.

“Are you alright?” she asks urgently. “Should I go and get Sugawara?”

He eases back down, hating that he cannot sit tall in front of her.

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Just really damn sore, even with the poppy milk. I probably will be until we reach Shiratorizawa.”

Michimiya looks over his bare chest, covered in bandages. He sits there silently, watching her eyes move over his torso. It feels strange for her to be looking at him. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what is right, what is proper, what lines there are.

He’s just a commoner and she is to be queen.

“When I heard you had been injured in battle, I was worried. I was seven when I saw someone die for me for the first time. I was traveling with my mother to a fort to the west, to spend some time away from the sea in the forests there. We did not travel the main routes, but we were still attacked by bandits. Perhaps they had heard we were traveling or happened upon us by chance. I never learned.

“My mother and I remained inside the carriage while the guards escorting us were locked in battle with the bandits. But one bandit slipped by their ranks, threw open the door to our carriage, and dragged me out by my arm. It was the first time I had experienced anything like this. Even now, I do not remember it in its entirety, but I do remember the strangest things. I remember the rose pink gown my mother wore. I remember the smell of lilacs and the taste of the strawberries cakes we had been eating just moments earlier. I remember the feeling of that man’s hand wrapped around my arm.”

Sawamura tries to imagine the scene. Michimiya, far younger, with long hair and a flowing dress, maybe a few teeth missing, as strange as it is to think about princesses with missing teeth. A woman in the carriage in a rose-pink gown. Does Michimiya take after her mother, or her father? He tries to imagine a woman like her, but not like her at the same time. No woman will ever be quite like Michimiya, even her mother. She is one of a kind.

“The moment I screamed, one of the guards came to my aide. He defeated the man who had grabbed me, but in doing so, left his back open. Before my mother could pull me back into the carriage, I watched this soldier fall to his knees in a pool of his own blood. I used to share my sweets with him. I would seek him out in the castle, carrying a tin of hard candy imported from Inarizaki, and we would hide behind trees or corners and talk in hushed whispers as we shared the sweets. Many of the guards treated me like I was a full-grown adult simply because I was the princess, but he always treated me like the child I was. He was a good, kind man.”

She reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, and presses her palm against the bandages on his chest. His chest rises and falls beneath her palm and she holds her hand there, unmoving, her warmth sinking through the bandages to his skin.

“You too are good men and I do not wish to see any of you die,” she says earnestly, her eyes resting on where her hand rests instead of his face. “In particular, I do not wish to see you die and I cannot explain why.”

He puts his hand over hers and she takes it in her own, their palms cupped together and fingers unlaced, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the soft skin of back of her hand.

“When we learned who you are, we told you that we were going to keep you safe. We knew what we were agreeing to then. I’m sure that guard did as well.”

She looks up, meeting his gaze, and smiles sadly. “That does not mean I have to like it.” She draws back her hand and places it in her lap, but does not look away from him. “More and more people are putting themselves on the line for my sake. The King of Fukurodani has pledged to protect me, should the time come.”

“What?” Sawamura asks, not sure if he heard her right or if the poppy milk was stronger than Sugawara said it was.

She smiles and laughs softly at his reaction. “You missed quite the meeting, Sawamura.”  

“Tell me about it, then,” he says, just to have her stay a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The language spoken by mages is actually Old English. I took this concept from Merlin. In that show, spells and the language used to talk to dragons is Old English. 
> 
> Also, I am happy to say: no more boats! Maybe this isn’t happy for you guys but it is for me. I absolutely hate writing boat scenes. I cut an entire chapter from when they were sailing to Nekoma because I hate boats that much. Too many characters in a tiny space? No thanks.
> 
> Though there're no more boats, the total chapter count did jump from 33 to 35. I really hope I don't end up adding even more chapters because 35 if a nice neat number.


	10. Dread

Hinata finds Kenma alone in one of the smaller, more hidden spaces of the ship. Hinata thinks Kenma found every nook and hidey hole within three days of being on the ship. Hinata only found them because he would follow Kenma, talking, and Kenma wouldn’t tell him to stop following.

Kageyama says he bugs Kenma. Hinata doesn’t see it that way.

(He really hopes Kageyama is wrong.)

Kenma is hidden away with one of the few books he brought with him from Nekoma, knees tucked to his chest and book on his thighs. His head whips when he hears Hinata approach.

Hinata squats near him and looks at the book, disappointed that there are no pictures. “Whatcha reading?”

He looks up to Kenma’s face, but Kenma does not meet his eyes. That’s okay. He learned that it’s not an insult. Kenma just doesn’t like looking at people. Or finds it hard. Hinata isn’t sure which is it and doesn’t really mind either.

“The diary Kuroo kept.” Kenma rubs anxiously at edge of the page. “He wrote in it every night.”

Hinata frowns. “What’s it say?”

“It talks about the preparations for King Oikawa’s coronation. It’s about a week before King Oikawa went mad…” Kenma’s eyebrows furrow and his lips pout a bit. "I think Kuroo became possessed a month after the coronation. That's when he first mentions being paranoid, too, and thought it was something in the castle water or food causing the king's madness."

Hinata doesn't really understand what he's talking about. He asks a simpler question, “How far does it go?”

Kenma flips through to the end of the journal. Well, it’s not the end. There’s a lot of pages left, but only the left page has writing and the right one is blank. Hinata figures that meant Kuroo stopped writing.

“This goes almost five months after the coronation. That's when I left, and from what Iwaizumi told me, I think it's around that time the demons fully took hold of Kuroo and King Oikawa." Kenma splays his hands against the words on the page then looks at Hinata. "Can you read?" Hinata shakes his head. Kenma runs his finger along the lines and Hinata's eyes follow it. Each line looks similar to the last. Hinata can't read, but he can see type of pattern. Kenma says, "The page just says the same thing over and over. ' _The end_.'" 

Hinata drops to sit down, his thighs protesting his current squat, and grabs his ankles. A sadness washes over him that he both can and cannot explain. “Isn’t that hard to read since you two were so close?”

“I guess…” Kenma turns the page. His face is back to neutral. “It was hard to read the first time I read it.”

Hinata thinks. “Wait. How many times have you read it?”

Kenma grins, just barely. Hinata thinks it's bitter. “I lost count.”

“Why do you keep reading it?” Hinata asks.

A slight shrug. “I need to know about the demon inside Kuroo and King Oikawa to exorcise them. There are different spells. They all derive from the same original spell, but some variations are more effective than others against different demons."

“So do you know which spell to use?”

“I know the spell,” Kenma says. He looks at Hinata and adds, “I know every spell,” with a faint smile, his eyes shining with some untold joke or insight that Hinata does not think he’ll get even if Kenma explained.

“You must have read a lot, huh?”

Kenma looks back at his book. “Not really.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it? That you know the spell?”

“It’s not a pleasant spell, no matter the variation. Even with my power, I don’t know if Kuroo will survive.” Kenma chews anxiously on his bottom lip. “The last known case of demonic possession in Nohebi ended with the host vomiting so much blood they drowned in it. In another older case, every bone in the host's body shattered. Kuroo and King Oikawa will probably die when I exorcise them.”

Kenma closes the journal, his knuckles white around the edges where he holds it. He bends forward, pressing his forehead to the cover of the journal.

“I don’t want to have to kill him.”

Hinata sits there, knowing that touching or comforting Kenma will do no good, but knowing that leaving him there isn’t any better. So he sits there silently in case Kenma wants to say anything, even if it’s just to ask him to leave.

He’ll sit there however long he has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your patience as I write this fic (especially for tiny ass chapters like this one)! I have 70k+ written that has yet to be posted but none of it happens to be for the next few chapters. The next couple of chapters will be a bit shorter then there’ll be some longer ones again soon!
> 
> For those who don’t follow me on tumblr and missed the updated summary, there is now art for this fic! You can see the final image here on [my tumblr](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/post/180286144247/i-commissioned-the-lovely-ineffablewitch-to-do) where I sometimes post edits for this fic but it’s mostly just excerpts with images. I’d love to commission more pieces for this fic so hopefully there’s more art in the future!
> 
> Fun fact: this chapter was called "Bonds" until the second I had to type it into the box when going to publish the chapter. It just didn't fit. I think "Dread" fits much better.


	11. Shiratorizawa

Iwaizumi is still surprised by how similar the world looks outside of Aobajousai. When he entered Karasuno with the goal of stopping Oikawa by whatever means necessary, he could hardly tell when he passed into Karasuno. The trees were the same, the climate similar at the border. It wasn’t until he saw the remains of the distant villages and the flames engulfing the capital that he saw a difference at all.

In Nekoma, the difference had been stark. Coastal oceans with fan-like trees and markets with far more diversity than anything Aobajousai ports had to offer. Yet, at the same time, all he could see were the similarities—the people bartering over the best cut of goat, the kid sneaking coin out of someone’s pocket, the men with too much confidence and not enough skill to back it up. People were still people, no matter where you went.

When they dock in a Shiratorizawa port, he feels like he is back at the southern border of Aobajousai. The same trees grow in the town center, visible just beyond the hill. The vendors selling fresh fish and other goods along the docks are just as eager, just as tactful as the ones in Seijoh itself, talking with silver tongues to lure in customers.

He looks over at Kenma and for a second, he thinks he might be back home in one of the warmer summer months. Then he sees Kenma’s clothes so different from the robes he usually wore, and how his staff had been charmed to look like a lance, and he remembers that he is very, very far away from home.

Still, when he dreams, he dreams of home.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa crouches behind the berry bush down wind of the creature, Kageyama at his side, a bright eagerness in his young eyes. Iwaizumi and the other Riders stand nearby their spears and crossbows, but they all know if Oikawa takes the shot, their weapons won’t be needed. One shot is all Oikawa needs.

Kageyama is another story.

Since joining the Riders two months ago, Kageyama has begged and pleaded with Oikawa to teach him to hunt. Well, begged and pleaded makes it sound like Kageyama had some emotion other than sheer determination involved, but Iwaizumi does not know how else to explain seeing Kageyama trot alongside or behind Oikawa with his bow, asking again and again despite Oikawa’s increasingly bad attitude about the topic.

“Why don’t you just teach him?” Iwaizumi asked one day. “Are you still mad about the tournament?”

“Of course not,” Oikawa replies. “Why would I still be mad? Because he showed me up in front of the entire city, including my father? How, even though I won the archery tournament like I always do, all people could talk about was that kid in the stands because _he_ made a shot harder than the one I had to make to win? Why would I be mad about that?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “If you’re not mad”— _though you clearly are_ —“then why not just teach him? You love hunting.”

“Because I don’t want to, that’s why!”

But eventually Oikawa caves and now the two sit with their knees in the dirt as the last vestiges of summer end. All of the trees are still green and there is no snow this low in the mountains where the knights and royal family like to hunt.

Kageyama’s bow is drawn and aimed at the stag in the distance, but he does not shoot. 

Kageyama can hit targets from leagues away. His accuracy and precision is rivaled only by Oikawa. But when he comes to real, living, breathing targets, Kageyama freezes.

No, that’s not quite right, because Kageyama has no issue shooting at humans. They took Kageyama on a short patrol just last month and he had killed a man without even blinking. It’s just shooting at animals, then.

Stranger still, while Oikawa is more than happy to teach the Riders any number of skills, he refuses to teach Kageyama. Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa is just being childish about it. He has yet to welcome Kageyama since he joined the Riders, has only given him challenge after challenge. Some Kageyama did with ease, others with great difficulty, but he always met the challenge in the end.

“Come on,” Oikawa urges impatiently, so unlike how he is with the other Riders. “Do it. It’s a clean shot.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are taking bets on how long Kageyama is going to sit there with his bow drawn before he shoots. Iwaizumi almost wants in, but he doesn’t want Kageyama to hear he participated in a bet.

He wants Kageyama to feel welcomed to the Riders. He’s younger than Kunimi by two years and during your teen years, that’s quite the gap. Kageyama is a child to them, not a comrade; he should be their comrade.

“What’s the problem?” Oikawa asks, exasperated.

Kageyama shuffles in the dirt, readjusting his angle. “It hasn’t done anything wrong to deserve being killed. It’s just killing for fun.”

Oikawa groans quietly. “You wanted to learn to hunt. Why are you here if you don’t want to learn?”

(“I think he just wants to spend time with you,” Iwaizumi once told Oikawa. “He admires you.”

Oikawa had scoffed.)

“Prince Oikawa,” Kageyama says, “I don’t know if—"

Oikawa sighs. “Move. Let the master do it.” Kageyama relaxes his bow and Oikawa gracefully nocks and draws an arrow. “One clean movement. No hesitation.”

His arrow flies.

Iwaizumi doesn’t need to watch it to know it hits its mark.

Oikawa turns to look at Kageyama. “Yes, hunting is fun, but the animals we hunt are used for food. We take it to the kitchens and they prepare it for dinner. The pelts are made into cloaks and blankets, and whatever is not made for the residents of the castle is given out along with rations during tough winters so no one goes cold or hungry. There is a reason we kill. There is _always_ a reason. The day there stops being a reason, you stop being human.”

Kageyama nods, very serious.

Iwaizumi sees Kunimi coming forward and collecting money, having bet that Kageyama would not be the one to take the shot at all.

Iwaizumi doesn’t quite manage to hide his grin from Kageyama, who politely asks why he is smiling with a comically confused expression. Iwaizumi ruffles his hair and tells him not to worry about it.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi wakes slowly to the crackle of a fire.

He wants to go back to his dream.

He wants to go back home.

He sits up, looking around to see who’s turn it is on guard and sees Kageyama with his back to the tree tending to the arrows in his quiver, checking for any split shafts or distorted fletchings. That boy whose hair he used to ruffle grew up. He grew up in another kingdom because of a mistake that Iwaizumi does not know is Kageyama’s fault or Iwaizumi’s fault for not teaching him better.

He can’t linger on these things. Not when there’s so much on the line. Not when Kageyama is happy and healthy and _alive_.

He turns away from Kageyama and sees Bokuto stoking the fire with what looks like Hinata’s sword.

Iwaizumi sits in the grass next to Bokuto by the fire.

“Can’t sleep?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Owls are nocturnal,” Bokuto says, tapping underneath his yellow eyes.

Iwaizumi thinks to during the day. Bokuto often travels in his owl-form, perched on Yachi’s backpack like he had before revealing his true identity; maybe he sleeps then. Akaashi prefers to travel as a man. Iwaizumi looks over to where the Beast Master sleeps and sees him with his eyes closed. Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s actually asleep or not.

“Bad dream?” Bokuto asks.

The opposite, he thinks.

“No.”

“You still sound upset.” Iwaizumi rubs hard at his face, not replying. Bokuto asks, “Is it that you don’t want to talk about it, or you don’t want to talk about it with me?”

Iwaizumi considers changing the topic, or not answering at all, but there is something in Bokuto’s gaze that makes him sigh and reluctantly answer, “It’s not something I talk about with anyone.”

Bokuto nods like he understands this. Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he does.

“I dreamt of Yukie,” Bokuto shares.

“Your sister?”

“Yup. We grew up in one of the hunting villages on the outskirts. She didn’t come from hunters, though. Her family made weapons—knives and things to help clean meat off the bones of prey. But I came from a family of hunters and I always delivered her family’s share of the hunt. Yukie ate as much as I did. We always got in trouble for eating more than we were allowed!”

He laughs loudly then quietly, seeming to remember where they are.

“You shared your hunts?” Iwaizumi asks.

He nods. “In Fukurodani, everyone looks out for each other because everyone’s family specializes in some skill. My family hunted and provided food, but other families made clothes, or weapons like knives for when we were in skin. Akaashi comes from a family of pirates that attack mainlander ships for rare goods, but he ended up liking the books they found and became all nerdy.”

“In skin? What does that mean?”

Bokuto grins. “You really don’t know anything about Fukurodani, do you?”

Iwaizumi looks at the fire, not wanting to look at the king of these people when he says what he’s about to say. “We were taught that you were savages, shape-shifters that ate humans in their animal forms. You were brutes that fought to establish order.”

Bokuto hums lowly, unhappy, but Iwaizumi is surprised about what. 

“It’s not ‘animal forms.’ We call it skin and feathers. We’re not human when we’re in our skin and we’re not animals when we’re in feathers. We’re always changelings, no matter what. We’re always who we are.”

Iwaizumi wants to ask when they lived in each form, how this hunting system worked, what sort of weapons they made. He wants to ask about the combat that decides the ruler, how he won to become king.

Instead he asks, “How the hell did you get hurt?”

“Huh?”

“Yachi said she found you in your animal—sorry, your feather form. She said you were hurt and she fixed you up and that you just stuck with her.”

Bokuto rubs the back of his head. “Oh. Yeah. I flew into a bush I didn’t recognize to sleep for the day. Yukie and I snuck to the mainland all the time when we were younger. We loved coming and sneaking food. You guys have so many more spices than we do—and seafood! Only a few families in Fukurodani catch seafood. Anyways, I’d never seen that type of bush and thought it was safe. Turns out it was a thorn bush. I got real torn up trying to get out.”

Iwaizumi smiles and hangs his head, biting his lip to hold back the loud laughter building in his chest. 

“Oikawa did that once when we were playing hide and seek as kids. He always made up some excuse about it being stealth training, but it was just an excuse to dick around in the forests. I’m pretty sure he moved spots because halfway through my search, Oikawa crawls right into a thorn bush and starts screaming.”

“You knew him since you were kids?” When Iwaizumi nods, Bokuto says with no tact at all, “So my gist of things is that he’s a demon.” Bokuto gives him a look.

“He wasn’t always—he’s _possessed_ by a demon.”

“Does that make a difference? I mean, is he still in there along with the demon, or is he just… gone?”

Iwaizumi’s heart tugs in his chest.

_Gone._

Not gone like Kageyama, who was alive somewhere else. Gone forever.

“Kenma said it’s hard to know. All records of exorcisms he’s found don’t end well for the… host. There’s this one case where, just before they died, they were themselves, but most of the others aren’t as clear.”

Bokuto smiles at him. “That’s good. That means we’ll get him back.”

Iwaizumi nods numbly, not sure if he believes that or not. He does not know how Bokuto can be so optimistic—how he can still believe his sister is alive out there, how he can believe Oikawa will survive this.

Maybe hope is all he has.

 

* * *

 

They reach Sendai, the capital of the Shiratorizawa Empire, a week before the emperor hears all grievances. The city is large, centered around a tall, sharp-edged building made of white stone unlike anything Iwaizumi has ever seen. The tallest tower seems to rise up into the clouds, towering over the city.  

They make their way through the bustling streets in search of an inn only to find themselves in the courtyard outside that towering castle. Purple trees so foreign to Iwaizumi he almost doesn’t think they can be real circle the castle.

In that courtyard, they find a crowd of people, their fists in the air. There, at the front of the crowd, is a rising pile of wood and a tall pole where a woman is tied. Sour smoke fills the air as flames rise from the base, spiraling up around the woman, her screams drowned by the shouts of the crowd—joy, hate, _righteousness_.  

Iwaizumi can’t stop picturing Kunimi on that pole, or Kenma.

He has to look away.

“What is this?” Hinata asks, lacking his usual enthusiasm. “What are they doing to her?”

“Quiet,” Sawamura hisses, tugging on the back Hinata’s collar to stop him from rushing forward and doing something stupid.

“We have to help!” Hinata insists.

“They’re burning her because she’s a mage,” Ukai says grimly. “Or they think she is. We can’t do anything without ending up on that pyre ourselves.”

“What did you think everyone meant when they said magic was punishable by death?” Kageyama mutters, though he seems paler than usual.

“I don’t—we have to— _why_ —” Hinata looks to Kenma, who watches the woman burn with a cold stare.  

For the very first time, Iwaizumi sees nothing in his home here. Not in the flames that wrap around the woman’s body, not in the screaming mob so open about their hate, and not in the purple trees that grow tall despite the smoke rising from ever burning pyres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By purple trees, I mean royal red maples. They’re actually more of a dark red but I always thought they were purple growing up (and to be honest I still think of them as purple).


	12. Retribution

Their first two days after reaching Sendai are rather lazy. They rest, regaining their strength from their travel, and enjoy the local foods. Yachi spends her days in the market with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, trading the many items in her large backpack for other items, seemingly happy with her deals. Hinata and Kageyama look at every blacksmith and bowyer in the city under Sugawara's supervision. Kenma isolates himself, not talking to many, pouring over the few books he brought with him.

The third day, Ukai begins to plan their meeting with the emperor. In four days, the emperor will hear all grievances. It’s the only time they can appeal directly to the emperor and if they fail, their mission is lost.

Ukai, Iwaizumi, Sawamura, and Michimiya hole up in a room with various versions of things they want to say, arguing over specific word choices. Sawamura does not know why he is involved in these meetings. If this was to plan a battle, he would understand, but he has no insight into the minds of nobles. His words are rough and blunt, not elegant like Michimiya’s. He doesn't have a lifetime growing up in a castle like Iwaizumi, or a knight for a grandfather like Ukai. He's just a commoner who swings his axe. 

As they are planning, there is a knock at the door. Bokuto and Akaashi poke their heads in.

“We’re going out,” Bokuto says. “Figured we’d let you know.”

No one argues or says anything to stop them. Michimiya wishes them luck.

When the door is closed, Ukai turns to Sawamura.

“Sawamura, go with them,” Ukai orders. “I still don’t trust them.”

Sawamura nods. “Yes, sir.”

Sawamura waits a moment then jogs to catch up to the two men who are headed downstairs, saying, “I’ll tag along. I need to stretch my legs.”

Bokuto smiles and Akaashi simply nods, neither questioning him or telling him to leave.

From what Sawamura can tell, the two men seem trustworthy enough, though their reasons for traveling with them are not out of loyalty to Princess Michimiya. Akaashi is only with them because he is loyal to his king, who only wants to find someone dear to him. There were the other two—Washio and Komi—who Akaashi tells them are not in the city. They circle the skies further out searching for any invading Aobajousai forces.

But how do they know that is the truth? To them, Washio and Komi look like regular birds when transformed. For all they know, the two could sit perched on the roof of the inn, waiting for their Beast Master and king to call them. They could listen in to every conversation and report back to Akaashi and Bokuto. 

Still, they don’t seem intent on hurting Michimiya, which is definitely a good thing.

“It’s a good thing you came,” Akaashi says as they leave the inn, winding an arm around Sawamura’s. His solid black eyes are closed. “I must feign blindness in public and Lord Bokuto has the terrible habit of running ahead of me.”

“But you can hear your way around,” Bokuto argues.

“But the rest of society cannot know that,” Akaashi replies dryly.

Bokuto moans and grabs at his hair. “It’s so weird traveling with you on the mainland, Akaashi!”

Akaashi sighs and shuffles close to Sawamura, who quickly becomes accustomed to Akaashi being so close. The man moves quietly, light on his feet in a way that Sawamura has never seen. There is something deeply unsettling about it.

Akaashi is second in command of Fukurodani’s military. He is also as knowledgeable as a scholar. He is a true man of mysteries.

Outside the inn, the sun is shining and people are milling about. Women walk by with baskets full of vegetables fresh from the market while men talk and laugh loudly. Shiratorizawa soldiers walk the streets, passing them from time to time, lances pointed towards the sky and eyes straight ahead.

Sawamura wonders where exactly they’re going when they wind up in a market. He follows Bokuto, who looks from stall to stall, making unhappy noises and planting his hands on his hips when he doesn’t see what he’s looking for.

Finally, he seems to, walking towards a stand with several cages and baskets of white and brown chicken eggs as well as a few duck eggs. Dead chickens are hung up, feathers still in place. 

“Got any live birds?” Bokuto asks casually, fingers catching on the wooden cage of a chicken.

The man spreads out his arms, gesturing to the many cages at his stand. “I’ve got all kinds of birds—quail, pheasant, you name it. What are you looking for?”

“I work for a man that likes to collect rare birds. I’m looking for an owl,” Bokuto says, hands in his back pockets and a large smile. It seems perfectly pleasant, but Sawamura can see the way the muscles in his back strain as he forces himself. “The man I work for has… particular tastes. He wants a big one, y’know?”

The merchant’s entire posture changes. His voice is lower and conspiratorial when he replies, “A big one. Yeah, I know.”

The man wiggles his fingers. Bokuto slips him a coin.

“Well, I can’t sell ya one,” the merchant says, stepping towards Bokuto and slipping him a small piece of paper, “but if you go here you’ll find a special market for those kinds of tastes. Ya want Suzuki.”

Bokuto says, “Thanks for the tip,” and waves as he walks off. The second his face is hidden from view, his smile drops into a hateful grimace.

“You seem like you’ve had that conversation before,” Sawamura comments as Bokuto examines the piece of paper, which has a sketchy map of the market streets.

“I was in Nekoma for about two weeks before Yachi found me. Even after she did, I would fly off and investigate while she did her business. Most big cities along the coast have someone selling changelings, or claiming to."

“How many changelings go missing a year?” Sawamura asks.

“The exact numbers are unknown,” Akaashi answers as they trail behind Bokuto, who walks quickly now that he has a destination and a lead. “It’s mostly pirates that hunt human ships and kids that fly to the mainland without telling anyone. Somewhere around fifty go missing a year, though you have to remember our population is much smaller than any other kingdom on the mainland.”

“Do people ever go looking? Especially for the kids?”

“They’re not supposed to. It brings more danger to us as a whole.” Akaashi looks at the back of Bokuto’s head. “He says otherwise, but I think it’s part of the reason he wanted to become king. No one could tell him that he couldn’t look for her. No one could tell him no.”

“You do.”

Akaashi smiles. “Yes, but he doesn’t usually listen.”

They follow Bokuto down winding roads, going deeper into the market and then seemingly to the outskirts down an alley with no other entry points from the street. In the center of several buildings is a large cobblestone courtyard where several stands are set up. The only way out besides the way they’re walking would be through the buildings.

Sawamura has been to black markets before with both Ukai and his grandfather in search of information on jobs and they so very clearly just entered one of Sendai’s black markets. People give them sideways looks, eyeing Sawamura’s axe and Bokuto and Akaashi’s lack of visible weapons. Sawamura suddenly wonders if the men can fight in their skin forms. He really hopes it doesn't come to that, but when you're a new face in this kind of place, you never know what to expect.

He sees spices and meat hung up by chains, fabric and weapons with deadly sharp points that Sawamura have never seen in this land. Further up on the balconies of the buildings, he sees scantily clad women and men and, to his horror, girls and boys. Sawamura wonders how many are prostitutes and how many are slaves.

Brazenly, Bokuto walks up to a stall with knives and curved blades and bottles of liquid that may be poison and says, “I’m looking for Suzuki. I want to talk about some birds.”

The man doesn’t say anything. He just points to someone on the other side of the courtyard with cages.

Bokuto nods and heads off.

The stand they were pointed to has a string of feathers stretched across the top. On the table and crammed in underneath are cages. Some are empty, some are square, some have beautiful iron work. Most are filled with hawks or eagles while others have birds with colorful plumage that must be native to Nekoma or lands far away. Sawamura wonders if their import is illegal in Shiratorizawa.

There’s two men flanking the stand, one sitting on a crate picking at something under his nails and another standing with his arms crossed, back to a wall of the building behind the stand.

Bokuto peruses the cages on the table, tapping against one with a falcon and tilting his head inquisitively.

“Hunting falcon,” the man standing nearby says, pushing away from the wall. He wears a simple tunic and a vest, but a pair of thick gloves are clipped to his belt, the type falconers use.

“You Suzuki?”

“Yeah. You a hunter?”

Bokuto hums. “Not interested in hunting, really. I’m more of a collector.”

“What are ya interested in? Got some exotic ones from Inarizaki with real nice plumage.”

“I’m looking for something… bigger, if you know what I mean.”

The merchant grunts. “Alive or dead?”

“Got any white ones?” Bokuto asks instead of answering.

The man gestures to the string of feathers stretched across the table of cage. Sawamura’s stomach churns, a sour taste in his mouth.

There’re at least twenty feathers; two are white. Are they all changelings for sale?

Bokuto reaches up and touches one of the feathers. It’s small with dark brown stripes along it. His fingers are gentle as they run along the soft, almost fur-like tuft near the base of the feather.

“Snowy owl,” Bokuto states, no doubt in his mind. “This one alive?”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto pulls his hand back to his side. “Male or female?”

“Female. Got her six months ago from another trader in Nekoma. She was too violent to customers at the brothel so he just sold her, cut his losses. I just finished taming her ‘bout a month ago. She was reeeal stubborn, but she won’t be violent no more, I can promise you that.”

Sawamura balls his hands into fists. Akaashi’s hand slides down his arm and eases his fist away, his hand sliding back up a moment later.

The man grins, several of his teeth missing. “Wanna see her? She’s real pretty for a sub-human.”

“Yeah. Can they come with?” Bokuto asks, jerking his head to Sawamura and Akaashi.

The man licks his lips and looks at Sawamura’s axe. “Sorry. I ain’t that stupid.”

Bokuto shrugs.

The merchant walks towards a nearby door and opens it with a key from his pocket. Sawamura hardly hears it over the noise of the market, but Bokuto clicks his tongue. Only he doesn’t do it once. He does it three times in different tones followed by a low whistle. The merchant doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe thinks it's a song.

The two disappear behind the door.

Akaashi tugs on Sawamura’s arm. “C’mon. We’re coming around from the other side.”

“You did that, on the boat,” Sawamura mentions, letting Akaashi lead him out of the hidden market and back to the main streets. “That noise thing. When you ordered the others to back off.”

“It’s our military code when we’re in skin. It’s how we communicate orders.”

“And what did Bokuto just order you to do?”

“Flank and support. He wants us to come in from the other side.”

 

* * *

 

They circle around, keeping an eye on the building Bokuto just entered, looking for another entrance. In a few minutes, they find their way to the other side. There’s another door to the building, but a boy on a box sits in front, shoe polish and a rag next to him.

Sawamura and Akaashi approach.

“Can we go inside?” Sawamura asks, nodding his head to the door.

The boy looks up at him. “Uh-uh.”

“We need to get inside to see our friend,” Sawamura says, trying to reason with him.

“Ain’t nothin’ but sub-humans in there.”

Akaashi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather bag of coins. He hands it to the boy, who opens it and stares at Akaashi.

“Mister, this is—”

“More than your boss pays you to watch this door.” Akaashi tilts his head. “Go.”

The boy hesitates. “I can’t. He’ll hurt me if—”

From inside, they hear a scream. The boy flinches.

“That man will never hurt anyone ever again,” Akaashi promises. “ _Go_.”

The boy runs off.

The door isn’t even locked. Inside they find a narrow hallway with many doors and a staircase going up. From above, they hear another scream and they hurry up the steps, following the sound down another narrow hall to an open door.

On the ground, there are three bodies, including the merchant. Their flesh is ripped viciously, their bodies torn to pieces. One still twitches, hands on his stomach as he tries to stop the bleeding, but his insides are not where they should be.

There, in the center of the chaos, is a large, hulking beast.

Blood drips from its talons and the soft tiny feathers around its black beak. Its wings beat out in the small space, nearly spanning the width of the room, the creature perched for an attack. Its yellow eyes are fierce, pupils tight with bloodlust.

Sawamura shivers against his will as a wave of carnal fear washes over him. This is the man that beat all others and took the throne of Fukurodani. This is the man that is the strongest of his people.

His blood-soaked beak opens and he hoots lowly at them twice, one call right after the other.

Then, he leans down, and snaps his beak across the half-dead man’s neck, ending the job. Sawamura can hear his beak tear through the bones with a painful crunch.

“Lord Bokuto,” Akaashi says, slowly approaching with his hands out. “They’re dead. Calm yourself.”

Sawamura swallows thickly, hands tight on his axe, which he forces himself to lower just slightly against his instincts. He does not want Bokuto to mistake him for a threat, not when he’s this far gone with rage.

Slowly, Bokuto lowers his wings and then, he transforms back into his skin, shrinking nearly four times in size to stand before them. But transforming does not wash away the blood, the skin of his face coated like war paint, his shoes and pants soaked wet and red. His yellow eyes still hold the same ferocity of his feathered form. His chest heaves as he huffs heavily. 

Bokuto turns away from them, looking behind him where a woman sits naked on a bed, her arms bruised and bulged so severely Sawamura’s arms ache with sympathy. She’s so skinny, her ribs visible and wrists and ankles protruding. A splatter of blood streaks her chest and face, likely from when someone’s neck was slashed, but she doesn’t seem bothered at all by it.

Her amber eyes stare at them, wide, owl-like.

“Yukie,” Bokuto says roughly. Her eyes turn to him and soften. “You’re safe. Those bastards won’t hurt you ever again.”

“Her arms,” Sawamura says, confused. “Why…”

“ _Taming_ ,” Akaashi murmurs. “So she can’t fly.”

Bokuto walks towards the bed and bundles the sheet around her. She doesn’t fight him, doesn’t even flinch. He scoops her into his arms, careful not to hurt her any further. She buries her face into his chest.

For several seconds, no one says anything. Then, her stomach growls.

“I’m hungry,” Shirofuku complains.

“I’ll hunt whatever you want,” Bokuto says, a faint smile on his lips.

“Rabbit. I want rabbit.”

He turns, stepping over the bodies of those he just killed, and walks towards the door, Shirofuku in tow.

“Akaashi, free the rest of ‘em. Kill anyone that tries to stop you.”

“Yes, My Lord, but make sure to clean the blood off your face before leaving this building. I don’t want any more trouble.”

Bokuto blinks then smiles. “You’re so smart, Akaashi! You always remember stuff like that.”

Sawamura watches the two, unsure what to do. He just sighs as he feels a headache coming on. Ukai is not going to be happy about this.  

 

* * *

 

Ukai curses when they return to the inn smelling of blood and guts. He lights up some tobacco and curses between every drag. At this rate, Sawamura wonders if he’ll curse the rest of his life.  

Yachi and Michimiya quickly find something from Shirofuku to wear. Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi linger outside the room; Sawamura can hear Hinata saying he wants to know what’s going on and how he’s just going to peak a bit, followed by Tsukishima scolding him.

Finally dressed, the changeling sits quietly in Bokuto’s lap as Sugawara examines her arms and other wounds.

“They’ve been broken multiple times,” Sugawara says with a frown, gently pressing on her arm. “I think it might be best to let them heal naturally without a spell. I don’t want to fuse the bones in the wrong place…”

“Hungry,” Shirofuku murmurs into Bokuto’s chest.

“You just ate a whole loaf of bread with butter, three apples, and two turkey legs!” Yachi says, more amazed than anything else.

“Rabbit,” she says, practically drooling.

Bokuto laughs. “When we get out of here, I’ll hunt you the juiciest rabbit.”

“You’re leaving?” Ukai asks. Sawamura can't tell if he's shocked, concerned, or relieved. Maybe a bit of all three. 

Bokuto nods, looking towards Michimiya instead of Ukai. “I promised to protect you, Princess, but now my promise has changed.”

Sawamura’s hand twitches at his side, wondering if this is the moment they feared, if this is the moment they are betrayed. Sawamura sees Iwaizumi’s hand move to the hilt of his sword.

“I can’t stay here and protect you. I have to make sure that Yukie makes it home safe. When I’m home, I’ll talk to my people. I’ll tell them about the evil you’re fighting. I promise, you’ll have the aide of Fukurodani when the time comes.”

Sawamura’s shoulders relax instantly, his body knowing there is no fight, but it takes his mind a moment to catch up. Bokuto is promising to help them. He is promising his kingdom will help them.

“Akaashi will stay with you until I return,” Bokuto says. “Washio and Komi will come with me to help make sure Yukie and the other changelings we saved get home safely.”

Michimiya sits next to them on the bed and slowly reaches out towards Shirofuku, who looks at the princess cautiously. After a few seconds, Shirofuku places her hand in Michimiya’s.

“I am so happy that I finally met you,” Michimiya says, “and I am so, so sorry for what you went through. When this is all said and done, I am going to make sure that this never happens to another changeling again.”

Shirofuku smiles. “You’re quite pretty. If you were a changeling, I may have made a nest with you.”

Bokuto sputters with laughter.

“What does that mean?” Sawamura asks, looking at Akaashi, who is smiling slightly.

“It means to settle down,” Akaashi explains. “Mate. Make a home.”

Michimiya turns rose pink. She quickly regains herself and says, “I wish you all the best. I hope we meet again one day." She looks to Bokuto. "Both of you."

Shirofuku smiles. “Me too.”

"I know we will," Bokuto says. "I don't break a promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote my outline, Bokuto and Shirofuku stayed with the group the entire story and I talked about her recovery mentally and physically. But as I wrote this out, I realized how overwhelming this number of characters is and how I wouldn’t be able to do that justice with so many characters running around.
> 
> Also, I wrote this chapter all in one day. It's been a long, long time since that has happened and it feels pretty good.


	13. Mouth of the Gods

The day the emperor is to hear all grievances, the city is overrun. There are peasants from villages on the edges of Shiratorizawa and noblemen who look down their noses at them. There are mothers with crying, sick children and men with reports of bandits.

Anyone and everyone is there and they are all to be seen in one day.

The line weaves through the city of Sendai, starting at the towering white castle in the center. Soldiers pace the length of the line, stopping any rowdiness they see.

They wake well before sunrise and there are still a hundred or so people in front of Iwaizumi and Michimiya, who wears a navy-blue dress given to her by Lord Nekomata when they left Okyo. It is nothing complicated, just a simple cotton dress with laces down the back. She looks like a well off commoner, not quite noble, but she is clearly a woman in that gown. That is the point, Iwaizumi supposes. They cannot assert that she is a princess if she dresses like a common man. 

“It is a shame,” Michimiya says as they approach the castle, only ten people in front of them now, “that these people can only appeal to their ruler on a single day every month.”

“Well, aren’t they really trying to talk to the gods?” Iwaizumi asks.

They may be speaking to the emperor today, but the emperor’s words mean nothing without the backing of the gods. Here in Shiratorizawa, warriors monks known as Mouths of the Gods train for years to talk to the gods.

The training of the monks is esoteric. Few know where the monks travel and fewer still know how they talk to the gods. Some people enter the training willingly, so devout in their faith that they want to serve the gods’ words all their lives. Others are children forced into the training either for status or because their families cannot feed them and the idea of a quick death is better than a death by starvation or a life of crime punishable in the afterlife for all eternity.

Iwaizumi wonders if these warrior monks talk to the gods at all, or if they just hear what they think is best in the wind.

Oikawa held the gods in such high esteem all his life. He believed they protected his family and listened to his prayers. He would stand in the cold, lightness nights and pray to them for guidance. But he never had to travel to mysterious far off places to worship and he never left decisions that affected his people up to the gods that may or may not exist.

“I understand the gods are important to these people,” she says quietly, careful so no one in line around them can hear, “but an emperor should think of the people first, not the gods. I learned how this empire worked when I was a child and I am still baffled by it.”

Iwaizumi grunts in agreement.

When it is their turn to speak to the emperor, they are led inside by two guards. Just like the outside, the inside of the castle is gleaming white, so pure and pristine that Iwaizumi wonders what materials were used to construct this place. He sees no seams of bricks or stone, though he knows they must exist.

Through the halls they walk, past busts and portraits of past emperors. It is not a bloodline, but a decision made among the monks. Only a warrior monk can be made an emperor, though they stop their pilgrimages when they take the throne.

They are led into a large, open room with windows that rise high into the arched ceiling. Thick dark purple curtains the color of raw amethyst hang from high above and pool on the floor in extravagant, unnecessary excess. There is a curved table like a crescent moon and in the center sits Emperor Washijou.

He may be old, with folds along his face and neck, but Emperor Washijou radiates power. His eyes do not show his age or any sign of weariness. Iwaizumi can picture him still being alive ten, twenty, fifty years more, still the same, unwavering.

This is the man that came back from his final pilgrimage before being made emperor and declared the gods wanted all mages to die. Iwaizumi is tempted to run his sword through his gut where he sits. He wonders if any of the cushy, overweight court members could stop him in time. The guards around the corners have lances, but Iwaizumi bets he's faster, though they must be confident if they did not take Iwaizumi's scabbard at the door. 

Iwaizumi and Michimiya stop in the center of the room and wait. There is a very specific, very important etiquette when it comes to addressing the emperor. Lord Nekomata and Sir Ukai shared all they knew with them so that they had the highest chance of success. 

“You may speak,” Emperor Washijou says shortly.

Iwaizumi steps forward and he looks only at the emperor, not at the many members at the court sitting at the table beside him.

Iwaizumi is a nobleman by birth, but he has never felt like one. He only lived his childhood in luxury. Then, when his father died, he moved into the castle and became a squire, serving the knights. He polished their armor and mucked their stables, and took their swords to the blacksmith and carried shields so they could practice throwing knives at a moving target.

Then he was a knight, a warrior. He served the prince and treated the squires with more respect than he was treated. He did things for himself, asked help of no one.

He never felt noble at all.

Despite this, he knows how to act like a nobleman when he needs to. He never wanted to smudge Oikawa’s good name by acting a fool at important events. He knows how to act, who to bow to, what words to use and what words to avoid. This is one of those moments where words and manners matter.

“I am Sir Iwaizumi Hajime, knight of Aobajousai and son of Sir Iwaizumi Hayato,” Iwaizumi says flawlessly, his gaze and voice never once wavering. “I am the sworn knight of King Oikawa Tooru.”

After all this time, the words are so familiar yet so foreign just like the king he serves.

Emperor Washijou blinks slowly at him. “I have heard of King Oikawa’s sworn knight and their unusual friendship. I have also heard his sworn knight betrayed him as he marched to take Karasuno.”

Iwaizumi does not falter. “I did.”

“What does a traitor have to ask of Shiratorizawa?”

He knows he is a traitor. He has betrayed his king, his kingdom, and his oath. He has no right to call himself Oikawa’s knight, but he does anyways. He does not know how to be anything else.

“I am here on the behalf of another.”  

“And who might that be?”

“Princess Michimiya Yui, rightful heir to the throne of Karasuno.”

Some of the court members begin to whisper to one another in hushed tones. They stop when Washijou calmly taps his fingers against the table in front of him, though the noise is barely audible to Iwaizumi.

“I heard King Oikawa murdered the royal family when he invaded Miyagi,” Washijou says, studying Michimiya. “He beheaded them and put their heads on spikes as warnings to all that would disobey him. It seems to have worked, from what our sources have reported. No one has risen against him, not until he comes to steal their men for hard labor, or destroy their crops, or burn their village. It’s quite the powerful regime.”

He sounds like he admires it, that power.

Michimiya remains strong, unwavering, except for the hands at her sides. They clench into fists, but it’s hardly visible. The sleeves of her dress are loose and are far too long. Only Iwaizumi can see her moment of weakness.

“I have also heard,” Washijou goes on without pause, “there is one head missing from his collection.”

“May she speak?” Iwaizumi asks.

Washijou nods once, slowly, and asks, “Can you prove your bloodline?”

“I cannot, Emperor Washijou,” Michimiya replies, voice calm and docile. “Sir Iwaizumi found me and my family during the battle. I did not have time to gather a crest, or seal, so that I may one day prove my bloodline.”

Washijou hums in thought, his fingers drumming against the table in front of him.

“Before reaching your great empire, I sought asylum in Karasuno’s ally kingdom, Nekoma.” She holds her hand towards Iwaizumi, who places two sealed letters in her palm. She slowly approaches the table and sets the letters in front of Washijou, but he makes no move to open them, merely studying the wax seal on each. “There, I met with Sir Ukai, the former commander of Karasuno forces, and Lord Nekomata, King of Nekoma. They vouch for my identity in these letters, which bare their family crests.”

Michimiya returns to Iwaizumi’s side.

Then, Princess Michimiya drops to her knees and bows her head. Iwaizumi remains standing. He kneels for one man and that man is not Emperor Washijou.

“On behalf of the people of Karasuno, I formally request the aide of the Shiratorizawa Empire.”

“Rise,” Emperor Washijou says with a dismissive wave of his hand. She does as told. “You know you will be executed if you are not who you say you are."

"Yes," she replies. 

"I will have a member of my court confirm these seals and examine the contents of these letters. However, I believe they are genuine. You look enough like your mother and have the same dedication to your people as your father did. Once these seals have been confirmed, I will send a monk to speak to the gods on your behalf. If the gods will it, you will have our aide.”

“I and the people of Karasuno thank you,” Michimiya says, bowing her head.

“We would like to accompany the monk on their journey,” Iwaizumi says. “If King Oikawa even thinks that we would come to you for help, he may send forces to intercept your monks. We would like to offer additional protection, without meaning to insult the skill of your warriors.”

Washijou must understand the threat Oikawa poses. His monks are valuable assets. Very few survive the grueling training and fewer still return from their journey to talk to the gods. If he were to lose even a single monk because of Oikawa, it would be a great loss.

Despite this, Washijou says, “The routes our monks travel are a well-kept secret. They pass no villages, leave no marks or tracks, and leave no waste. There will be no need for your aide.”

“Secrecy did not stop you from finding hidden routes through the mountains into Nekoma in the Ten Year War,” Iwaizumi replies. “Secrets can be broken.”

Several of the court members grumble and whisper, flicking nervous eyes to their mighty emperor.

“Five,” Washijou says begrudgingly. “I will allow up to five men of your choosing to accompany our greatest warrior, Ushijima, on his pilgrimage. Should you slow him down, he will leave you behind. Should you be wounded, he will offer no aide. Is that clear enough?"

Michimiya bows again. “Thank you.”

“I will have a guard see you out. They can help you and your companions to your new living quarters. I am sure you will find them more than adequate. If you are who you claim, we cannot have you living outside of the castle.”

As they turn to leave, Iwaizumi's shoulders do not relax. This is the outcome they wanted, so why can’t he be happy about it? All he can think about is what lies ahead. There’s still so much to do. And just because a monk is being sent out on pilgrimage does not mean the gods will side with Michimiya.

Only when they have exited the room, following behind an armed guard, does Michimiya lift her head so that her chin is parallel to the ground. It’s such a subtle thing, but she looks so much more powerful than she had just moments ago when she had to bow her head.

Iwaizumi looks at her and says, “You did well.”

She smiles ruefully. “I have many years of practice bowing my head to noblemen of the court.”

“They made you bow your head to noblemen?”

“When I am queen, I would not have to, but until then, according to tradition, I had to bow my head like every other lady of the court.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head in disgust. A princess bowing her head to people beneath her? He hates all the rules royalty has, thinks they’re stupid and do nothing but separate royals from the people they’re meant to lead. But he still believes royalty deserves respect. A leader should only bow their head willingly, not because of some stupid tradition.

Maybe one day, she can change that.

“Thank you for introducing me, Sir Iwaizumi.”

“You shouldn’t call me that. Emperor Washijou was right. I’m nothing more than a traitor.”

He thinks back to all the times he swore he would stay by Oikawa’s side. He remembers the first time he met Oikawa and swearing to protect him. He remembers that night in the hot springs, when everything changed between them, and how he promised to always be by his side. He remembers the night of Oikawa’s coronation, of Oikawa’s declaration that Iwaizumi was his.  

He swore so many times, made so many promises, and he has broken all of them.

“I do not see it that way,” she says firmly. “I knew from the moment you took my hand in Miyagi that I was nothing more than a way for you to save your king. You have never betrayed him, not once, not for a second. You are no traitor.”

“It’s different now,” Iwaizumi replies. He does not want to argue if he is a traitor or not. In his mind, that is what he is, and she will not be the one to make him think differently. “I want to help you—not just to save him, but to save you and your kingdom. You're kind. You're a person worth fighting for.”

“I have been hoping that was the case. I am glad to hear that. Your presence is a great aide to us. You may be the knight of our enemy, but you have proven yourself trustworthy. I would not be able to hold my head so high without your council. You are a good friend, Sir Iwaizumi."

"You too, Princess."


	14. Take to the Skies

They decide Sawamura, Azumane, Iwaizumi, Kageyama, and Hinata will join Ushijima on his pilgrimage.

The preparations for their journey are made without the aid of the Ukai Mercenaries. They do not know where they are going, but they are measured for new armor and proper attire by Shiratorizawa servants. Their bags are packed for them, they are assigned horses from the stables, and they are offered to select any weapons they want from the armory and Hinata nearly dies of excitement looking at all the swords before deciding on a new shortsword.

Sawamura can’t complain. The new armor, styled after his old leather armor, fits like a glove and is a good mix of metal and leather pieces. He doesn’t like the heaviness and immobility of metal armor, though he welcomes it on his greaves and vambraces and the single pauldron on his shoulder. He also does not mind the tomahawk he picked from the armory, or the new bedroll in his pack.  

They don’t even meet Ushijima until the morning they’re to depart.

The monk is not dressed like Sawamura expected. He knew these monks were warriors, but he still expected them to be dressed in robes or some religious attire. Instead, Ushijima wears a metal chest plate, greaves, and vambraces with metal mail underneath a purple tunic. He carries a large shield and a larger sword, though the objects are secured to his person when he approaches Sawamura, Azumane, and Sugawara.

“I am Ushijima Wakatoshi,” he greets, his deep voice matching his expression. Sawamura cannot tell if he is serious or indifferent, or some combination of the two. “I hope you are not so weak as to slow me down or die.”

Sawamura’s jaw twitches and Azumane frowns deeply. Then, without saying another word, Ushijima turns and walks towards Iwaizumi, who is talking to some servant that insisted on putting his armor on for him.

“Nice guy, huh?” Sawamura comments, but neither Azumane or Sugawara seem as annoyed as they should be right now.

“Wow,” Azumane says, his voice soft as he looks past Sawamura’s shoulder.

“She’s gorgeous,” Sugawara agrees, his eyes in the same direction.

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

Pinching his brows together in confusion, Sawamura turns to see what all the fuss is about.

Sawamura thinks that he has had full life, that he has experienced many things that others only read about in stories—great battles, epic quests, unexpected adventure and friendships—but never in his life has he been stunned to silence like he is now.

His stomach swirls and heart pounds as he watches Michimiya walking towards them. It’s only after several seconds that he sees Yachi at her side, their heads bent as they talk to one another in quiet voices that don’t carry.

Ever since he met her, he’s only seen Michimiya in simple clothes. Most of the time, she’s dressed as a man. Servants gave her dresses in Okyo to wear around the castle and there was the dress she wore to meet the emperor, but none of those compare to the dress she wears now.

She is not just gorgeous, she is _exquisite_ , perfect from head to toe.

The lower skirt is solid black velvet, but the top is more like a jacket, symmetrically embroidered with golden leaves along the length of the chest and arms. There is something masculine about the top, something powerful, and Sawamura finally, fully realizes that she is a ruler, that she is the woman who will be queen when this is all said and done.

My princess, he thinks when he sees her, a warmth blooming in his chest. My queen.

Yachi’s dress is far less extravagant than Michimiya’s, but it’s still gorgeous. She picks at the collar like it itches, though Sawamura would struggle to call it a collar. It dips down low but still covers her cleavage. The dress is made of flowing black velvet with long angular sleeves and a golden string-thin sash wrapped around her waist several times.

Michimiya says something to Yachi, who looks to the side and sees Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Hinata, and Kageyama talking. Well, they’re not quite talking. Yamaguchi is staring with a starstruck expression and Hinata’s jaw is practically on the floor. Even Tsukishima and Kageyama seem startled into silence at the sight of their friend in that dress.

Yachi smiles at Michimiya, bows slightly, then picks her dress so she doesn’t trip and runs over to her friends. With her dress picked up, Sawamura can see she’s still wearing her muddy boots.

Michimiya continues her path to Sawamura, Sugawara, and Azumane.

“New dress,” Sawamura comments when she stops in front of them. He looks her over now that she’s closer and it’s even more gorgeous up close. _She’s_ even more gorgeous. “I’ve never seen a noblewoman wear anything like that in Karasuno.”

Sugawara elbows him gently and teases, “Spend a lot of time looking at noble ladies, Daichi?”

Sawamura laughs. “You know what I meant.”

Michimiya flushes red and smooths down the front of her dress to keep her hands busy. There’s not much to smooth. The front of her dress, even over her upper chest, is somehow completely flat. He has made a point not to look at her chest most of the time but he could have sworn she had more there than that, even when disguised as a man.

“Thank you. Emperor Washijou asked the royal tailors to prepare several dresses for me, though they are not the style I am accustomed to. Yachi was in the room when they took my measurements and I asked them to make her a dress as well. They were kind enough to agree. There is quite the difference between what noblewomen and servants wear here.”

“I think it looks good; _you_ look good,” Sawamura says, rubbing the back of his head as he tries not to stare too much. Is saying good insulting the tailors? Should he use a fancier word? He's not good as these kinds of things. “Maybe you can start a new trend when we get your throne back.”

“I think I might,” she says with the faintest of smiles. She eyes the great battle axe strapped to Sawamura’s back then changes her gaze to his face, looking only at him. “I wanted to give you a token before you left in hopes that it brings you good fortune.”

Sugawara grabs Azumane’s arm and begins to steer him away, saying something about checking to make sure his bags go on the right horse and leaving Sawamura alone with Michimiya.

Out of the sleeve of her dress, she pulls a strip of black fabric identical the fabric of her dress. He looks her over, wondering where she tore it from. She smiles when she notices this.

“I had the tailor give it to me. It was a spare piece of fabric. I would never dare tear such a beautiful gown. May I?”

She nods to his axe. He takes it off his back, holding it out.

The axe has seen him grow and break and grow stronger. Sir Ukai gave it to him when he first joined the mercenaries, saying it the was axe he wielded in the war. Sawamura does not know if that is true, but this axe as certainly seen many battles.

Somewhere in the middle of the handle, away from the worn leather where his hands rest and the blade begins, she carefully ties the strip of black fabric, knotting it several times over. 

“Do you know my house colors?” she asks as she finishes tying the knots.

“Black and orange. And I think your symbol is a crow.”

“Yes. Black represents crows taking flight. Orange is the color of sunrises, a time of beginnings, as well as sunsets, a time of endings.” She runs her fingers over the fabric before moving her hands away. “Our house words are ‘Take to the Skies.’”

He smiles. “I like that.”

“I do as well. When you return, I will tie an orange strip next to the black to celebrate your return and signify the end of a journey and the beginning of the next.”

He puts the axe back in place.

“Thanks. I can’t promise it won’t come back dirty or anything.”

“I expect it to. You are a warrior, after all.”

“Warrior, huh?” He makes a face at that. “I think I prefer mercenary. Warrior is too… serious.”

She laughs briefly, the sound light like music. “You would make a fine knight.”

Sawamura shrugs and rubs the back of his head. He’s never thought about being a knight. It’s never been a possibility.

“I’m not a nobleman,” he says, like she doesn’t already know that.

“It does not change the fact that you would make a fine knight,” she replies.

Michimiya flicks her eyes over to where Ukai is talking to Iwaizumi, Ushijima having moved on to talk to Hinata, Kageyama, and the others around them. She touches Sawamura’s shoulder in parting, her touch lingering before she turns and walks away. Even through layers of fabric, his skin feels like it’s on fire where she’s touched him.

He watches her go, wishing he could always stand by her side.

 

* * *

 

They ride hard and fast, following Ushijima out of Sendai and into the grassy plains to the north. They still do not know where they are going, meaning they must follow Ushijima or be left behind. Luckily, the horses given to them by the empire are well bred, able to jump the rocks and small ravines Ushijima knows by heart, air sharp against their faces at this speed. They alternate between a fast trot and a hard gallop, pushing forward without stopping. 

Sawamura worries that Hinata will not keep pace. Out of all of them, Hinata has the least experience on horseback. Sawamura grew up on them on the farm and Azumane trained as a soldier. Iwaizumi seems to have similar training and for whatever reason, Kageyama was a master rider when he joined the mercenaries, clearly having some kind of expert training. But even though Hinata shouts and grits his teeth, he keeps up, refusing to be left behind.

Eventually, when Sendai is hidden behind grassy hills, they do stop. Ushijima slows and dismounts his horse at an overgrown river, the grass up to his knees. Cattails are scattered all around the river edge and Sawamura thinks he sees a fish jump from the rushing water. 

“We will stop for half an hour,” Ushijima tells them. “Take care of any bodily needs now as we will not stop again until we near sunset and make camp. The water here is safe to consume.”

“Can the horses last that long?” Azumane asks.

“Our pace will be slower from here on out. Monks are trained to be considerate of the steads that carry us on our pilgrimage. They are often our only partners."

"Must feel weird having us along," Sawamura comments.

Ushijima's expression does not change. "I have no strong feelings. Your presence does not affect me. I will travel as I always have and if you cannot follow, that is your concern, not mine."

Sawamura nods slowly. "Right. Okay, then."

Kageyama and Hinata immediately go towards the same stretch of the river. Kageyama, just downstream of Hinata, leans down to wash his face. When Hinata takes out his cock to relieve himself, Kageyama stands up with an angry shout and grabs Hinata by the shoulders, shaking him and shouting about not pissing when someone is washing their face right next to you, and Sawamura thinks all that shaking may be getting Hinata’s piss all over the both of them.

Sawamura laughs as he dips his water skin into the river to fill it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Iwaizumi looking at him, grinning.

“Have they always been like that?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yeah,” Sawamura answers with a wide, amused smile. “When we first met Kagyama, he was a sellsword traveling around Karasuno. Whenever we had a tough job and needed extra support, we’d hire him. He was damn good for how young he was. Within a year of meeting him, we’d hired him nearly ten times. Then, there was one job that needed a lot of planning and he was living at the fort for maybe a month or two. After the job was done, he just came back with us and never left.”

Sawamura can still remember the Kageyama from that time. He had been so distant, so hard to trust and to be trusted, but his skill was undeniable. Sawamura still hasn’t seen someone that can rival Kageyama with a bow. For a while, the only time he saw Kageyama smile was when he shot down an enemy.   

He remembers overhearing a conversation between Sugawara and Kageyama he had not been meant to overhear. It was at camp on their way to their third or fourth job together and Sugawara asked where his home was. Kageyama said he lost his home.

Sawamura still does not know much about Kageyama’s past, but he knows it must not have been pleasant.

“And Hinata?” Iwaizumi asks.

Sawamura smiles. This is a more pleasant memory.

“The rest of us were gone on a job that required some delicacy that Kageyama lacked at the time. And still lacks, to be honest. So we left him at the fort to watch over it. Apparently Hinata walks into the yard, expecting to find Sir Ukai and this other guy called the Small Giant, and Kageyama is up in the watchtower with his bow.”

“ _No_ ,” Iwaizumi says, but he’s smiling widely. “Did he hit him?”

“Put an arrow right between his legs.” Sawamura laughs along with Iwaizumi. “We come back as Hinata is running around, arrows trailing after him. He runs right into Sugawara and just clings to him, saying there’s a madman up in the sky.”

Iwaizumi snorts.

Kageyama began to smile more once Hinata joined them. Sawamura thought it was because Hinata was closer to his age than the rest of them, but he doesn’t think that’s it anymore. The two always fight, always bicker, but they’re a true terror when they’re together on the battlefield. Something about their friendship healed a part of Kageyama that had been broken.

Those two will be famous one day. Sawamura is sure of it.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, they pass through fields of gorgeous wild flowers, over grassy hills, and through shallow rivers. The further north they go, the more trees appear, the forests growing thicker. The hills become less gradual and more frequent, and since they take no stoned or marked paths, they ride through the areas with the most hills towards the mountains in the distance. 

Five days after departing from Sendai, as they rest at camp for the night, Ushijima tells them they are halfway to what is known as Heaven’s Peak, the summit in the mountains where they will speak to the gods. Sawamura looks to see if Iwaizumi recognizes such a name—he never knows what the knight of Aobajousai will and will not know—but if Iwaizumi recognizes the name, he does not react.  

As they sit around the fire, their dinner warm and whole in their bellies, Hinata pulls out a small stick of wood he’s been slowly whittling during their breaks. It’s strange because Hinata’s never done that before but Sawamura doesn’t want to ask why he’s started in case he stops. It seems to be the perfect distraction for Hinata, who can never sit still and has a liking to sharp, pointed objects like swords and knives.

Ushijima has no such tact.

“Do you have a lover?” Ushijima asks, clearly looking at Hinata.

Hinata startles. “Huh? Me? Why me?”

“Monks often carve things along their journeys and bring them back to their wives or partners. I do not subscribe to such a tradition, but it is fairly common."

“It’s not—he’s not—we’re just—I mean, I wouldn’t say we were—” 

“Idiot,” Kageyama grumbles.

Hinata stumbles and flushes, settling on, “He’s just a friend.”

Sawamura thinks he means Kenma. 

Iwaizumi smiles good-heartedly as he stokes the fire.

“Do you have a lover, Iwaizumi?” Sawamura asks without thinking.

It’s in that moment that he realizes he still does not know much about Iwaizumi. He knows he is a knight, he is from Aobajousai, and he will do anything to stop his king. He does not know how many rounds Iwaizumi can handle at the tavern before passing out, or how he came to be the king’s sworn knight, or if he has any family left in his home kingdom. Those things never seemed important with the goal they have. 

Iwaizumi tilts his head down and smiles bitterly. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Sawamura wants to ask more, but the look on Iwaizumi’s face keeps him from prying. Sawamura thinks that after this is over, he'll take Iwaizumi to a tavern and see how many mugs of mead he can drink and ask him all the things he does not know. 

 

* * *

 

The air grows colder as they approach the mountain range that separates Shiratorizawa from northern Aobajousai. It will grow colder still as they begin their ascent. But for tonight, they make their camp at the base of a series of snow-capped mountains in a forests of pine trees.

“That scar,” Iwaizumi says as Sawamura reaches out to put another log on the fire.

Sawamura touches the back of his hand. “Yeah… I got it when I was kid chopping wood. I grew up on a farm and did a lot of the heavy lifting.”

“Do you have any cool scars?” Hinata asks Iwaizumi, child-like with eagerness. “I bet knights have lots of cool scars!”

“I’ve got a few,” Iwaizumi answers, “but only one has an interesting story.”

Hinata looks at him, expecting that story, and Iwaizumi sighs.

“I was seventeen,” Iwaizumi begins, his voice even, like this is a story he told often. “I had been a knight for two years and I was finally put in charge of a mission.”

“Wait, then how old were you when you became a knight?” Hinata asks, holding up his fingers to try and count. Hinata has no education; he cannot read or write more than his name. Things like that don’t really matter on the battlefield so Sawamura so easily forgets.

“Fifteen,” Kageyama says easily. Either he did that math while Iwaizumi was talking, or he knew that fact somehow. Sawamura does not know which is more surprising coming from Kageyama.

“Is that normal in Aobajousai?” Azumane asks, clearly shocked by this. “You need to be twenty-one in Karasuno to become a knight and that’s only after having been a squire for a few years.”

“I was the youngest squire ever granted knighthood,” Iwaizumi says. “They say Aobajousai is a land of winter. It doesn’t really apply to the far south, but to the north near Seijoh, we have what we call summer for three and a half months, then the rest of the time, the land is covered in snow. During the worst winters, the wind is so cold you feel it in your bones. In some places, you can’t go outside for long without covering your face, or your nose will go black. The snow piles so high, it’ll cover a horse.

“Food is harder to come by during those months especially for the common people. If you don’t have your grain reserves full for the winter, you have to pay a higher price for your grain, or you go hungry. The forts have rations for some of the poorer villages, but bandits hunt the supply routes to take the food for themselves, usually to sell to people desperate enough to pay anything to fill their own stomachs.

“It was a bad winter that year, the type that kills entire villages. Nine knights and I went to investigate claims about bandits to the southwest of Seijoh. The snow was so bad, it took two days longer than expected just to reach the supply route. The paths were covered in snow and even our best-bred horses had trouble. But we kept pushing. We had no other choice. People were suffering and it was our job to help them.”

“That is very admirable,” Ushijima comments.

Iwaizumi gives him a look. “Where I’m from, we don’t wait for the gods to tell us to help people. We do it ourselves.”

Ushijima just looks at him, expression blank, unreadable.

Iwaizumi doesn’t comment any further, just continues his story, “We found the bandits holed up in a cave in the mountains near the Summit of Ice, the tallest mountain in Aobajousai. The bandits were enjoying their spoils while people went hungry because of them.

“There was a fight that night. I don’t even remember it clearly. All I know is, I ended up getting a damn nasty cut to my arm before it was through.”

Iwaizumi puts a hand over his upper left arm where the scar must reside.

“We treated it as best we could, but we only had some salves and bandages. The other knights that were injured healed just fine, but their wounds weren’t as deep or as long. I probably would have been fine, too, if we had been able to get back to Seijoh when we expected to. But another wave of snow rolled through during the night and it just kept coming.

“We were snowed in at that cave for nearly three weeks. Ten men and ten horses cramped inside a cave with hardly enough food for a week and not nearly enough water. You can melt down snow, but you can’t eat it, or your insides get too cold.

“My wound became infected. They dumped boiling water over it, burned it with their heated blades—whatever they could think of—but none of it helped. It would scab over during the night and I’d have to break it in the morning to drain out all of the pus. The knights and I joked about how much I would drain out that day, taking bets on the amount and the color.”

Iwaizumi laughs at the memory in his mind, his expression fond.

“By the time they got me back to the capital, my wound was rotten. I was so feverous, I was either unconscious or delirious. I honestly don’t even remember leaving that cave. Apparently, there was a lot of talk about cutting off my arm, but Oikawa wouldn’t let them.”

“But you got better,” Hinata says, stating the obvious with a simple-minded innocence.

Iwaizumi nods. “The council physician and Arc Mage cut out the worst of it and treated what infection remained. I nearly died and all I have to prove it is the scar.”

"Why didn't King Oikawa want to cut off your arm?" Kageyama asks, which startles both Iwaizumi and Sawamura. "You're right-handed and use a one-handed sword."

For a moment, the knight doesn't answer, just staring at the younger man, who stares back. Eventually, Iwaizumi says, "I don't know. I never asked. But I can guess. I was his knight. I was a reflection of him. If his knight was this broken thing, what did it say about him?"

"Is that really what you think?" Kageyama asks, like he knows that is not true, though Sawamura does not understand how that could be. 

Hinata gives Kageyama look. "You're being really weird, Kageyama."

"Shut up, idiot," Kageyama replies sharply. "Go back to carving your weird bear!"

"It's a cat! _A cat_!" 

And just like that, the conversation moves on.

 

* * *

 

At the base of the mountain range, Sawamura gazes up at the towering peak they must climb. Ushijima calls it Heaven’s Peak, the tallest place on the entire continent. Sawamura doesn’t know if it’s true, but he’s certainly never seen something so tall or intimidating, the cap covered in misty clouds and pure white snow. Here, from the bottom, he can see specs of green, fragmented forests that decorate the mountain's edges. 

Sawamura is becoming more and more curious how exactly Ushijima will talk to these gods. The others have their questions too, each one turned down. Most of them have stopped asking. All but Hinata.

“What kind of training did you have to do to be a monk?” Hinata asks with child-like curiosity.

“I am not supposed to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because it is what I’ve been told.”

“So you just do whatever you’re told?”

“Yes.”

“You sound like a soldier,” Azumane comments. Ushijima looks at him and Azumane waves his hands, clearly trying to back track, afraid of Ushijima’s wrath. Sawamura still doesn’t know how Azumane can be like this, so afraid and meek when outside of battle but a true warrior in the heat of it, unafraid and unbending. “I meant—”

“You would know,” Ushijima says, not offended at all. “You’re a soldier as well.”

Confused, Azumane replies, “I never said that.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No. I was a soldier for Karasuno for three years.” Azumane’s face hardens. Sawamura knows this is not something he talks about so easily. “It wasn’t long, I guess, but some things stuck.”

“Why did you leave?” Kageyama asks curiously, though his expression is rather dull. “You never talk about it.”

“I was stationed in Miyagi. I loved my job. I loved protecting the people. Sometimes, we patrolled the seas. Pirates didn’t really come near Miyagi, not with all the soldiers there, but these pirates did. We tried to get them to leave to avoid a battle, but they had a deal in Miyagi. During the battle, they sent over fire arrows. Our barrels of pitch caught fire and our ship erupted in flames. I was—I was the only one who washed back up to shore. The others disappeared.”

Azumane balls his hands into fists. Sawamura reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder, but it only makes Azumane tenser so Sawamura pulls it back.

“I resigned and found work with the Ukai Mercenaries after that.”

“Is that why you get all tense on ships?” Hinata asks.

“Yeah,” Azumane says stiffly. “That’s why.”

“You didn’t let that stop you from helping Michimiya to Nekoma, or to Shiratorizawa,” Iwaizumi points out.

Azumane shrugs, hands fiddling nervously on the reins of his horse. “Someone needed help. I couldn’t let me own fears stop me from that.”

“Still a soldier, then,” Iwaizumi replies cheekily.

Azumane smiles ruefully. “I guess so.”

 

* * *

 

The ascent is harder than Sawamura was expecting. During their ascent, they leave their horses, which are unable to climb the narrow paths to the summit. The air thins and grows colder. Even with the gear given to them back at Sendai, it is still frigid. Only Ushijima and Iwaizumi seem to be able to stand it without complaining. Hinata is constantly talking about some part of his body freezing, either his fingers, ears, or the hairs in his nose.

The first night they make camp in a cave and Sawamura hears a far-off cry in the distance when he is on watch. No humans come up here besides the monks, Ushijima says, but there are wolves. Whatever that cry was, it didn’t sound like a wolf to Sawamura.

The further up they go, the paths become more treacherous. Deep, jagged grooves run across the mountain passes like some giant creature had clawed into the earth and torn it up. Sawamura does not feel like he is climbing a mountain at all. He feels like he is climbing into heaven.

The summit of Heaven’s Peak is a flat expanse of jagged, snowy rocks. He sees the frozen bodies wearing armor similar to Ushijima’s, monks of Shiratorizawa that did not get the chance to return him. Sawamura’s stomach coils at the sight.

“Here is where I will speak to the gods,” Ushijima says, but Sawamura sees no gods, no shrines or alters, only dead bodies and vast blue sky above them.

Then, he hears that far off cry, only it is much closer now, and the sound of rocks tumbling. From down in a cavern, a creature awakes and takes to the sky.

It’s an impossible creature and Sawamura can only process it by comparing it to other animals.

Its wings are like those of a bat, translucent except for the longest part where there are scales. Its body is covered in brownish scales like the lizards that climb the trees in Karasuno only they are much, much larger and surely much tougher than a lizard’s. Its claws are like a hawk’s and its twisted horns like a goat’s. It has only two legs, its arms its wings.

Its roars in the sky like the greatest beast to walk the earth and Sawamura trembles.

“What the hell is that thing?” Kageyama shouts as he draws his bow, tracking the creature as it soars above them.

Calmly, Ushijima responds, “A god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was just filled with all these little back stories that didn’t fit anywhere in the fic. This chapter is also where [this amazing piece of art](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/post/181399982697/llstarcasterll-commission-for-lahdolphin) takes place! I loved the idea of Michimiya in this dress so much I just had to see it.


	15. Heart of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that when there’s another language, you can hover your cursor over the text and it gives a translation. Anything that is important to the plot will either be translated or summarized.

Iwaizumi is not afraid of many things, but he is afraid of the beast in the sky.

It’s larger than any creature he has ever seen and only grows larger as it circles down the sky, closing in on them. Iwaizumi has no idea how such a massive creature can see them on the ground. Surely they look like ants amongst the trees and mountains, but the creature sees them all the same.

“We must wound it so that it kneels,” Ushijima tells them, calm and stern as ever, like there isn’t a fucking wyvern flying above them. “The battle between a single monk and a god usually lasts for some time. With your help, it should go much more quickly, as long as you do not die.”

Ushijima draws his sword and steps forward, but no one follows him. They stare at the beast in the sky—a god, he says, and Iwaizumi does not know if that is falsehood or the truth, but he doesn’t particularly care because it’s circling them like a vulture.

Iwaizumi will not fall here, not to a beast or a god.

Ushijima tilts back his head, his hands tight around the handle of his large sword, and roars in an ancient language, “Ic ábannan þec!”

“What did he just do?” Hinata asks, looking panickedly at Kageyama. “Was that a prayer?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Kageyama shouts.

The wyvern bellows back, low and deep, a rumbling noise that shakes Iwaizumi to the bone. Iwaizumi has never heard anything so loud and powerful and raw. It sounds as powerful as thunder and as ancient as the waves on the shore. It could topple the mountain with that cry if it wanted.

Kageyama’s arrow is nocked, his bow drawn. He follows the wyvern with it, though Iwaizumi doesn’t know how much damage it will do. Its black scales must be thick as stone. What good is a small arrow head, or an iron sword against such a creature? How does any monk survive this task?

Still, Iwaizumi holds his sword and wonders how he could get close enough to strike the beast.

He finds his answer when the wyvern barrels towards him, plummeting from the sky so sharply it looks like it intends to ram into the ground. It’s even larger than Iwaizumi thought. Its tail alone is as thick as the oldest tree Iwaizumi has ever seen. Its fangs are as long as swords but five times as thick.

It’s coming right at them.

“To the side!” Sawamura shouts urgently.

They all dive, even Ushijima, landing with their stomachs flat to the ground. Kageyama lets his arrow fly as he dives and it splinters into pieces against its belly.

The wyvern pulls back seconds before it hits the earth, flying over them with feet to spare before arching back into the sky and circling around. The air from where it dove booms around them, pushing at their hair and the fabric of their clothes like a storm.

Ushijima is the first to his feet, then Iwaizumi and Sawamura, and the others.

“It is impossible to kill it,” Ushijima tells them calmly, holding his sword in front of him and his shield in the other, the thing comically tiny compared to the foe they face. “Mortals cannot kill a god. We must wound it so it can kneel before us. Only then can I talk to it. Those with swords must aim for the joint between its body and wings, or its stomach. Those with anything with more reach should aim for its eyes.”

They have to beat up a god to talk it? Iwaizumi never thought his life would come to this.

“I’ll take the left eye,” Kageyama says, nocking another arrow.

He looks briefly at Azumane, who grips his lance and says in a steady voice, “I’ve got the right, then.”

Kageyama looks back at the wyvern, his eyes locked on his target.

Sawamura steps next to Hinata, who looks overwhelmed but determined not to seem that way. He puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “Let’s take the left wing together.”

Hinata nods, determined.

Sawamura looks to see if Iwaizumi heard so Iwaizumi nods and then moves closer to Ushijima. “Looks like we got the right wing,” Iwaizumi says.

“Seems that way,” Ushijima replies, voice steady.

“How many blows does it usually take?”

“I’ve never counted. I always focus on the task at hand.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi mutters. The task at hand being wounding a god.

The wyvern’s cry booms through the sky. It’s so loud it must be heard leagues away, to all the corners of the realm.

“It’s coming,” Ushijima warns, sword drawn. “Prepare yourselves!”

Hinata stops shaking. He always stops shaking right before the battle gets tough. A brave coward, Iwaizumi thinks. Azumane is the same. There is no nervousness in the soldier’s gaze, his arm steady, his lance poised, prepared to be jabbed or even be thrown with accuracy and power like Iwaizumi has never seen.

Then there are Kageyama and Sawamura, who are never afraid, who do not waver even the toughest of battles. They are always strong, stubbornly so, never wavering. Kageyama seems to enjoy when the battle is hard. Sawamura seems good at hiding his fear when the battle is hard.

Ushijima is in a league of his own. He has faced this beast dozens, possibly hundreds of times by himself. Iwaizumi can hardly fathom defeating this creature once, let alone returning to do it again.

But he does not need to come back and fight again. He only needs to win this fight, here and now.

The wyvern dives towards them.

Again, they move, but its tail whips as it soars, slamming into Iwaizumi and Ushijima and sending them flying against a mound of rocks. Iwaizumi feels the air knocked from his lungs and collapses to all four, panting and fighting the urge to vomit. Miraculously, beside him, Ushijima is already on his feet, heading back to the others, his ribs apparently made of steal. Iwaizumi forces himself to his feet, hand curling tightly around the hilt of his blade, and readies himself for the wyvern’s next dive. His side aches, a tell-tale sign of bruises yet to come.

Kageyama shoots his arrow at its face, hitting its nostril, and already has another arrow drawn when its within range for Azumane to stab his lance at towards its eye. They aim opposite eyes, but it’s only Kageyama’s arrow that makes contact, causing the beast to bellow as thick red blood leaks from its golden eye.

It lands, then, the mountain shaking beneath them, rocks grumbling under its talon-like feet. It stretches out its neck towards them, shrieking then snapping its jaw shut in an attempt to cleave Kageyama and Azumane in two. Its mouth is large enough that both would fit inside, if they hadn’t rolled and dived away.

Kageyama comes up on his knees, bow drawn, and Iwaizumi does not know how he does it. He has never known. Not when Kageyama was a Rider under his command and not now, when he shots another arrow into the wyvern’s eye, burying it deep.

“Support me!” Ushijima calls out, rushing underneath the beast with a bravery even Iwaizumi does not know if he possesses. All the creature would have to do is sit, or lift its claw, and Ushijima would be done. Still, he charges underneath the belly of the beast, while Sawamura and Hinata distract it from the front, the creature shifting forward to try and eat them too. With swift, strong force, Ushijima shoves his sword into its belly, quickly unsheathing his sword to rush away, away from the beast that could crush him so easily.

How Ushijima can do that to the creature he calls a god is a mystery.

It thrashes, and Ushijima runs, and Sawamura takes the chance to bring his axe down on its jaw, scraping at its thick scales and leaving a white streak along them, not quit making it through but leaving his mark all the same.

In its rage, the creature swings its long tail around, hitting Azumane and sending him flying into Hinata, the two tumbling. They come close to the edge, feet freely hanging, dropping their weapons to claw at the snowy rocks, clinging on as the winter whips around them. With aching expressions, they drag themselves forward, then to their feet, then to their weapons, ready to fight again. The rocks had cut Hinata’s cheek, leaving a thin stream of blood down to his jaw and neck, soaking into the topic of his tunic. Hinata wipes it away with the back of his hand as he pants, eyes on the enemy.

The wyvern stills and they hold their breath. Iwaizumi clutches as his side where his ribs ache, and sees Hinata wipe blood and dirt from his face, and sees the way Sawamura’s chest is heaving, his weapon the heaviest of all of theirs.

The, the wyvern kneels, head dipped so low it nearly touches the ground.

Ushijima approaches slowly but confidently, his sword and shield left on the ground as he holds out his hands in a gesture you would use to calm a panicked horse. Up close, the wyvern’s head is nearly twice as long as Ushijima is tall. One eye is closed shut, the remnants of Kageyama’s arrow still deep in its eye, blood streaming down its scales towards its mouth where Sawamura has marked it. The other eye shines like gold, a gorgeous color that Iwaizumi has never seen in an eye, human or animal.  

The wyvern snarls as Ushijima approaches, releasing air through its nostrils and baring its fangs. The air from his nostrils is sharply sour and achingly acidic. Iwaizumi’s nose burns when he breathes it in. He shoves the back of his hand against his nose to try and ease the pain, but it does little to help. The acid breath has burned the air around them. Ushijima does not react to the horrible scent, walking even closer before finally stopping some feet away from the wyvern.

"Smyltnes þú ae eacen aenne, wyrþ aenne, ealdan aenne," Ushijima says, his voice deeper than usual, gruffer and more unrefined as he speaks in an old tongue that Iwaizumi does not know. It sounds familiar, though, like the language mages use to cast their spells.

The weight of the wyvern’s gaze is indescribable. It is the weight of something ancient and wise. The creature is not looking at Iwaizumi, but he can still feel it, and cannot begin to imagine how it must feel to Ushijima.

Ushijima lowers his hands to his side and says, “Ic béon Ushijima ond ic sece þin astýre.”

Iwaizumi does not know what he says, but his voice is powerful and demands attention. It’s so powerful even a god may listen.

The wyvern bows its head lower, its snarl gone as it submits to Ushijima’s words.

“Āseċġe us þeos: Scolde wé bot þá dryhten - blæc fléogendas?” Ushijima asks.

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, the wyvern opens its mouth and responds in an impossibly deep voice, “Acwele þá demon. Ahlúttre þá heorte - þá cyning.”

Ushijima frowns deeply. “Ic dide na sece onbutan – demon.”

The wyvern seems to laugh. “Hie sind þá ylcan.”

“Bi hwon?”

The wyvern turns its head and its single golden eyes looks towards the others, but Iwaizumi feels as though it is looking at him directly.

He can’t breathe. He can’t feel his body. But can feel so much _more_. He can feel the waves of sea, the curve of the earth, the press of the wind. He feels of this at once, in a second that last an eternity.

“Acwele þá demon,” it speaks and Iwaizumi can feel its voice in his lungs, in his blood, in his soul. He does not know what the creature says, but at the same time he does. It resonates inside of him and he understands without knowing what is being spoken. “Ahlúttre þá heorte - þá cyning.”

Oikawa, Iwaizumi thinks. It’s talking about Oikawa.

The wyvern looks back at Ushijima and finishes, “\- þú shall ealla swilteaþ. Paet béon ealla.”

“Ic þancie þe þú eacen aenne, wyrþ aenne, ealdan aenne.” Ushijima bows his head, accepting whatever the wyvern has said as final. He waves his hand and commands, “Fleogan.”

The wyvern flaps its wings, rising in the sky, and disappears behind the mountain.

“What did it say?” Sawamura asks immediately. “Will you help Princess Michimiya?”

Ushijima frowns deeply, looking out over the mountain before turning to look at Sawamura. “I must talk to Emperor Washijou. I’ve never received anything but a straight answer.”

“What did it say?” Hinata asks impatiently.

“’Kill the demon,’” Ushijima translates. “’Cleanse the heart of the king. Or you shall all die.’”

Ushijima picks up his sword and shield, and begins to walk past them, back down the mountain, wasting no time. He seems lost in thought, his expression serious and unreadable, more so than usual.

“We didn’t come here to hear about the damn demon,” Kageyama says irritably, quickly following after Ushijima.

Ushijima looks at him. “You know the demon it spoke of?”

Kageyama’s eyes dart to Iwaizumi and Sawamura for help. He almost looks apologetic.

“There are demons possessing King Oikawa and the Arc Mage Kuroo,” Iwaizumi says, wincing as he moves. “Only a Colored Mage can exorcise the demons, which is why we didn’t bring it up earlier. Your empire kills anyone even suspected of using magic.”

“And if the emperor heard the only way to help Princess Michimiya would be to use magic, he would refuse without asking the gods,” Ushijima infers.

“That’s what we feared,” Sawamura confirms.

“If the goal of Princess Michimiya is to exorcise this demon, then the gods are telling us to help,” Ushijima says resolutely. “Princess Michimiya will have the aide of the Shiratorizawa Empire.”

There is a moment of pause, then Hinata, Azumane, and Sawamura cheer out loud. Iwaizumi favors reaching over and ruffling Kageyama’s hair like he used to all those years ago.

“That was worth almost dying for,” Azumane says, holding a hand over his heart and exhaling deeply. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

Sawamura laughs and tosses an arm around Azumane’s shoulders. “A wyvern! A fucking _god_! Suga won’t believe us when we tell him.”

“I bet the princess will be very impressed with you,” Azumane says, grinning as he leans against his friend.

“I’m not talking about the princess,” Sawamura mutters, though he doesn’t sound too awfully sad about the idea of the princess being impressed with him.

That night, they celebrate around the fire. There is no wine, but they have fresh venison that Kageyama shot down, spiced well and charred black over the open flame. Ushijima is quiet during the celebrations, but Iwaizumi and Sawamura laugh loud enough, and Hinata and Kageyama argue loud enough, and Azumane tries to keep the peace well enough.

In times like these, it’s so easy for Iwaizumi to remember better days.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa has been practicing with the Riders more frequently these days, now that they have all decided to stay. He’s with them at least twice a week now, sometimes more if he can find the time. Iwaizumi may train these men, but Oikawa is their leader in the end and Oikawa can bring out the best in each soldier in a way Iwaizumi cannot.

Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. He’s training these men to one day serve Oikawa and he’s known they were never truly his; they’ve always belonged to Oikawa, just as he has always belonged to Oikawa.

Their training done, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki lounge in the shades of the trees. In the few months of summer, the snow melts and grass and wildflowers bloom. They spread out in the warm, green grass, their weapons forgotten, their worries non-existent. They talk about plans for their next hunting trip together and the next job the Riders may be sent on until Kunimi and Kindaichi return from their journey to the kitchen carrying a wicker basket and a small cask.

“They heard this was for the prince and gave us the good wine!” Kindaichi says excitedly.

“They sliced the meat, too,” Kunimi adds, sounding very pleased. “The last time Captain Iwaizumi had to use his sword…”

Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, clearly disgusted by this, but Iwaizumi just shrugs.

The two set the basket and cask down, pulling out stacks of plates and cups from the basket along with a platter of sliced meat, a block of cheese, and fresh bread.

“The ladies in the kitchen love him because he’s fat and eats everything they give him,” Iwaizumi says as he rises to his feet to fill a plate. “He’s been that way since we were young.”

Oikawa shoves in front of him and picks the best pieces of meat himself. “Oh, my apologies, Sir Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says dryly over his shoulder. “I’m so _fat_ I couldn’t help myself.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes while the others laugh, filling their plates and cups and settling back in the grass beneath the shade of the trees. Oikawa sits with his back to the same tree as Iwaizumi and carefully sets his cup in its winding roots.

The juices of the meat drip onto Iwaizumi’s fingers as he eats ravenously, licking his fingers clean and using his bread to suck up the juices from his plate. His Riders act similarly. Iwaizumi is a nobleman, but he has never adhered to their manners when he is alone with his Riders, who are all commoners. Oikawa still eats delicately, though, taking small bites and short sips of his wine while the others down cup after cup.

Iwaizumi and his Riders have gotten seconds then thirds before Oikawa is done his first plate. By that time, they’ve had far too much wine, and their conversation goes south more quickly than it usually does when Oikawa is around. They may spar with Oikawa like an equal and talk shit about him with a playful grin, but they don’t usually talk about such lowbrow things in front of him. This kind of talk is reserved for when Oikawa is absent.

“There’s a new girl working the second floor of the tavern in the middle layer,” Hanamaki says casually. The second floor of the tavern is the brothel, though no one ever calls it that. “Real cute. I helped her unload her luggage from her carriage awhile back. She had all these paints and brushes. She said she wants to be an artist.”

“You fall in love with every tavern girl, don’t you?” Iwaizumi says, grinning.

“Until they dump him,” Matsukawa laughs.

Hanamaki sighs wistfully, unbothered by Matsukawa’s comment. “Her pussy tastes like honey.”

Iwaizumi snorts into his wine. He catches sight of Kindaichi, who looks very uncomfortable with this conversation, and then Oikawa, who listens curiously but does not join in.

“Pussy can’t taste like honey,” Matsukawa argues. “It tastes like pussy.”

“I thought you preferred boys these days,” Kunimi comments, looking at Matsukawa. “What happened with you and that stable boy?”

“I’m available to all,” Matsukawa says, spreading his arms out widely. “A free man.”

“Issei sucked his cock when he was supposed to be getting some nobleman’s horse,” Hanamaki deadpans. Kindaichi chokes on his wine. “The nobleman had the stable boy thrown in the stocks for insubordination because he took so long, so now he isn’t talking to Issei.”

“What about you, Prince Oikawa?” Hanamaki asks, the word prince sounding more like a friendly taunt than a title of honor. “I know some foreign princesses have come to visit before. What does royal pussy taste like?”

Matsukawa laughs while Kunimi rolls his eyes and Kindaichi stares at his cup, still looking very uncomfortable with this conversation but a little curious too because his eyes flick to Oikawa to await his answer.

This is not something Iwaizumi and Oikawa talk about. Technically, Oikawa shouldn’t have conquests, not with his vows. But he can’t help but imagine Oikawa taking some woman to his chambers. He would be gentle with her because she is a woman. He would kiss her skin, her throat, her breasts. He would ensure her pleasure. Iwaizumi imagines her legs twined around his head as he eats her out slowly, like he enjoys it as much as her, his lips and chin soaked in her wetness. He imagines Oikawa stroking himself before pushing inside of her for the first time, how she would sound, how _he_ would sound.

Iwaizumi tries desperately to fight off the thought.

His casual relationship with Oikawa is overlooked because his father had a similar relationship with the king. Oikawa doesn’t let any of the other knights treat him the way Iwaizumi does. No one says a word when he touches Oikawa so casually, when he addresses him without honorifics, or when he chastises Oikawa in moderately public areas.

Some knights that are jealous and older members of the court that are too conservative do glare and look down upon it, but they don’t say a word because Oikawa welcomes it and they cannot question their prince.

Homosexuality may be accepted throughout the land, but a sexual relationship with his most trusted knight and gods forbid a romantic relationship would be the last straw. Oikawa must marry some high-born noblewoman or a foreign princess so that he can have a formal heir and possibly a new ally. His marriage will be political and the prince can only hope he finds love in it.

So Iwaizumi bridals his lust, hides it away, and tells himself Oikawa Tooru will never know how he feels.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Oikawa replies with an easy smile. “I have my vows to follow.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot about those,” Hanamaki says, sounding disappointed.

“You really follow them?” Matsukawa asks. “I thought they were for show.”

“Of course,” Oikawa replies. “You should never break vows made to the gods.”

Kindaichi finally pulls his face out of his cup to ask, “What vows?”

“He can’t fuck anyone until he’s of age,” Matsukawa says, which is a crude oversimplification, but not entirely wrong.

“The vows are to remain _pure_ ,” Oikawa corrects. There’s a subtle shift of his jaw and a certain tone to his voice. Iwaizumi can tell he’s irritated, but he does not know if it’s at the fact he has to remain pure or how blasé the Riders are being about his vows. “Gods used to walk this land and protect this kingdom. To honor them for their guidance, all members of the royal family must remain as pure as the untouched snow until they come of age.”

“And when’s that?” Kindaichi asks.

“When I turn twenty at the end of summer.”

“Are you sure that’s not just for the women so they don’t get pregnant out of wedlock?” Matsukawa asks.

“What about you, Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki asks before Oikawa can do more than look irritated. “Do knights have no fucking rules? Have _you_ ever gotten a taste of that royal pussy?”

“Not royal pussy,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug. “Had a noblewoman once, though.”

“You’re all so crude!” Oikawa exclaims.

“Should you be listening, then?” Kunimi asks. “Wouldn’t hearing this break your vows?”

“I can freely purge my mind of impure thoughts,” Oikawa says sagely and smugly, a hand to his heart. “If you have a pure mind, a pure body will follow.”

“That just doesn’t sound healthy,” Hanamaki says. “You mean you’ve _never_ jerked it?”

Oikawa frowns in confusion, not understanding the crude commoner’s phrase. Hanamaki makes an equally crude gesture and Oikawa gasps, “No!”

“Man, no wonder you royals always walk around like there’s a thorn in your spine,” Matsukawa says. “I’d be cranky too if I hadn’t shot off in my entire life.”

“Enough of this,” Oikawa dismisses. “Let’s talk about something a little more civilized.”

“Hunting?” Iwaizumi suggests.

The conversation easily turns to the Riders’ last hunt, which Oikawa did not join. Oikawa relaxes at Iwaizumi’s side, suddenly at ease as he listens to their tale.

 

* * *

 

After dressing their minor wounds (and Iwaizumi does not know how they avoided more serious wounds after facing that thing, a god, and he is still not sure if he believes that at all), they descend the mountain as slowly as they ascended, returning to their horses and gear and setting off towards Sendai to report to the emperor what the gods said.  

They ride back on a high note, their spirits high. However, they are through the forests in the grassy plains of wildflowers when they see riders galloping towards them.

“Is that—?” Hinata asks, sitting up to get a better look. “That’s definitely them, right?”

“Why the hell are they here?” Azumane asks.

“How did they find us?” Sawamura asks.

Iwaizumi does not know, but he is certain that is Sugawara, Kenma, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi riding towards them.

They slow to a stop when they meet.

“How did you know the path we would travel?” Ushijima demands. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Tracking spell,” Kenma says.

“Kenma!” Iwaizumi exclaims, shocked that he would say that in front of Ushijima.

“Spell?” Ushijima says, eyes narrowed. “Are you a mage?”

“We don’t have time,” Yamaguchi says urgently. “We needed your help. There’s no way we could stop him alone, even with Kenma, and the empire won’t help until Ushijima returns from his pilgrimage with the gods’ orders.”

“What’s going on?” Sawamura asks.

Kenma’s expression is grave. “Kuroo broke into the castle and kidnapped the princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last time, the chapter count has increased from 35 to 38. I've actually shared the rest of the chapter titles on my tumblr [here](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/post/182581042612/ive-been-working-finalizing-the-outline-and-after) if you're interested!


	16. The Sorcerer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: If there's a different language, you can hover for a translation.

The Arc Mage passes as winter ends.

It is an expected death. For the last two months, he had been ill, confined to his chambers. Physicians and apothecaries from far away traveled to Seijoh to treat him, but none were successful. Even magical healers could not help. Both magic and science met their limits in that man.

When Iwaizumi hears the news, he cancels practice with the newly formed Riders and sends a servant to tell Oikawa he won’t be available for the rest of the night. He searches the castle for Kuroo, who is not in the Arc Mage’s bedroom where his master’s body slowly chills, nor is he in his own chambers. He is not in his workspace with all that strange glassware or the gardens on the eastern side of the castle he collects herbs during the summer months.

He finally finds the man in the royal library. Kuroo is in the tallest tower, tucked away with the oldest books. He sits on the floor with his back to the far wall, knees drawn up to rest a book on them. A few feet away, Iwaizumi spots Kenma browsing the bookcases, clearly trying to spy on Kuroo and failing at being subtle. Iwaizumi and Kenma share a look of understanding. 

Iwaizumi leans his back against the wall and slides down to sit next to Kuroo, looking over to see what he’s reading. It’s in a language he does not recognize.

“My master wrote it,” Kuroo says without being prompted. “It was one of his first works. It drew the interest of his master, who sent for him to be brought to the capital to train under him. It was good for its time, but some of the ideas and theories are laughable now, knowing what we know.”

Kuroo turns the page and doesn’t look at him.

“He taught me to read, you know, more languages than I knew how to count at the time. He gave me the name ‘Kuroo’ after he found me stashing bread and dried meat throughout the castle. I was terrified he was going to realize he was wrong about me and kick me out. I thought, if I’m going back onto the street, I’m going to need food. He caught me and said I ran around like a little black cat. Kuroo means ‘black tail’ in another language.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head back against the stone, looking up at the ceiling where the wooden rafters form a beautiful pattern to support the roof.

“He taught me spells and manners and bribed me with sweets so I stopped cursing. When he first found me, every other word out of my mouth was ‘fuck’ or ‘cock.’ He made the day he found me my birthday, and gave me warm clothes and a room of my own when all I ever had to my name was a pair of leather boots I sometimes thought of stewing in hot water to eat because I was so hungry. I had nothing and he gave me everything.”

Kuroo’s voice is tight by the time he is done talking.

He quietly turns another page.

“Did Prince Oikawa send for you to fetch me, or was it someone from the council?”

“Oikawa doesn’t know I’m here and the only orders I take from the council are the ones that go through the head knights.”

“Then why are you here?”

Iwaizumi turns his head, looking at him though Kuroo does not look back. “Because I came to ask if you wanted to go to the tavern for a round. My treat.”

Kuroo looks at him for the first time and Iwaizumi can see the loss on his face, his reddened eyes and the slight downturn of his lips. He has been awake day and night since the Arc Mage’s condition worsened last week. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes so deep that Iwaizumi wonders if they color his skull.

Iwaizumi knows it is not easy to lose a father.

“C’mon,” Iwaizumi goes on, nudging him. “Kenma can come too, if he wants.”

A book falls as Kenma stumbles. Kuroo looks, sees that his friend is okay, then turns back to Iwaizumi.

“You’re paying, you said?”

“Yeah. First round, at least. We’ll talk about who pays after that.”

Kuroo smiles and closes the book.

 

* * *

 

They can’t lose the princess. Even Hinata knows that. Half their reason for fighting is to see her in a crown again; the other half is to see that this King Oikawa doesn’t hurt anyone else in their home kingdom. Princess Michimiya is more than their princess, she is their friend, and they are going to help her.

Kenma uses Kuroo’s diary, the one he took when he left Aobajousai for Nekoma, to track the man across the plains of Shiratorizawa. Ushijima keeps looking at Kenma, very unsettled, more unsettled than he had been when facing that giant dragon thing. Hinata thinks of the wooden cat he’s been carving in his pocket and he thinks of Kenma and he thinks of that day on the boat, when he curled in on himself, telling Hinata he did not want to have to kill Kuroo.

Why did this have to happen?

Why are people like Kenma, and Sugawara, and Tsukishima hunted because of who they are and what they can do?

Why is the world so full of hurt and pain and loss?

They ride hard, stopping only at night and for absolute necessities. In the brief breaks, they learn how Princess Michimiya was stolen from them.

Ukai and Akaashi had heard the guards shouting and went to investigate. In the room Princess Michimiya shares with Yachi, they found Yachi shaking in her nightgown, bravely pointing a fire iron at Kuroo with the trembling hands of a coward while Princess Michimiya hovered above her bed, limp as a doll. With ease, Kuroo put Yachi to sleep with a spell, threw Ukai and Akaashi to the wall resulting in five broken ribs between them, and disappeared before anyone else could do anything to stop it.

But with Kenma on their side, and all the other mercenaries, they will stop the sorcerer and rescue the princess. Hinata is sure of it. They don’t have any other choice but to win here.

Close to the mountains, the find the sorcerer alone on horseback. His robes are black, his hair is black, and his horse is black. When he realizes they are on his tail, he lifts his staff into the air and shouts out a spell that sends gusts of strong, sharp wing back at them. The wind is so strong, Hinata is surprised they can ride against it at all.

Kenma rides beside Hinata and he reaches around, pulling out his own staff and raising the ground in front of Kuroo with a spell. The earth opens and gapes, forming crevices and protrusions, but Kuroo’s horse jumps them all.

“Can’t you counter the wind?” Sawamura asks, raising a hand to shield his face.

“You’d have to all get behind me, or it’d knock you off your horses, too,” Kenma replies. “And I won’t be able to cast any other magic until I drop that spell.”

“Damn it all,” Sawamura mutters. “Kageyama, can you shoot him through this wind?”

Kageyama’s horse trots forward, falling in line next to Sawamura’s. “Yes.”

“Then do it. Aim for his horse. We need to stop him.”

Hinata watches in slight awe as Kageyama pulls his bow from his back and draws an arrow, steady despite the bump and rise of riding horseback. His arrow flies, cutting through the wind, a testament to Kageyama's strength, but it doesn't find its mark. It whirls past the sorcerer's horse, digging into the ground.

"Can you do it or not?" Tsukishima asks sharply. 

"I can do it!" Kageyama shouts. "Shut up and let me focus!"

Kageyama nocks another arrow and lets it fly and this time, it finds its target in the back of the horse. It kicks and whines, rising onto its back legs, knocking Kuroo off and running off into the distance in panic. As Kuroo falls to the ground, the wind halts. They ride in, circling him on Sawamura’s orders, and dismount their own steads to grab their weapons.

Up close, Hinata finally gets a good look at the man. He’s surprised to see he looks just like any other man with black bedhead, long layered robes, and a staff similar to Kenma and Tsukishima’s. He’s just a man, yet not. Hinata can't see the demon underneath, but he knows it's there.

“Kuroo,” Kenma says lowly, “you know you can't defeat me.”

“I’m stronger than I’ve ever been,” Kuroo replies, on his feet again, arms spread out wide. “So, why don’t you _try_ and take me down, little mage?”

Next to Hinata, Kenma’s hands curl around his staff.

“Where’s the princess?” Ushijima asks.

Kuroo reaches down into one of his deep pockets and pulls out what looks like a glass marble. With a single word spoken in another language, it expands, more than tripling in size, revealing Princess Michimiya, floating like she’s in water. Just like that, with just one more word, the sphere shrinks back into a marble and goes back into his pocket.

“Give her back!” Hinata demands.

“Over my dead body,” Kuroo replies. Then, he snickers and grins cruelly. “Rather, _this_ dead body. You know by now, don’t you, little mage? What I am?”

“You’re not Kuroo,” Kenma says, eyes as cold as his voice.

A wicked grin takes over his face. “No. No, I’m not. He's long gone and he won't ever be coming back.”

The sorcerer cackles, head bent back and hands on his stomach, the sound seeming to echo into the still air. It sounds twisted, evil in a way that Hinata didn't even know existed, and Hinata readies himself for battle.

The sorcerer straightens and heaves in a giant breath and shouts out a spell that sends them all back, knocking them off their feet. Hinata lands on his back, gasping as air re-enters his lungs, eyes burning and ears ringing. His body aches and tells him to stay down but he won't listen.

"Come," the sorcerer urges, manic. "Strike me down!"

They hurry to their feet and as the sorcerer shouts out his next spell, so does Kenma. Fire pours from the sorcerer’s mouth like a dragon from a story, but stocky, misshapen men made of clay erupt from the ground and take the blow. To the side, he sees Kageyama shoot an arrow, but the sorcerer knocks it down with a wave of their staff.

“Now you, I recognize,” the sorcerer says, tilting his head curiously. He taps his temple. "I know all that he knows and he knows you. Oh, how did a fuck-up like _you_ end up with this lot?”

"Kageyama?" Hinata asks, looking at his closest friend.

Kageyama’s hands tighten on his bow. “Shut up and focus!” he roars, flustered even as he holds bow steady. 

Hinata frowns deeply, but does as Kageyama says.

“Captain Iwaizumi,” the sorcerer says, spinning to face Iwaizumi now, “why haven’t you told them? Your dearest, favorite little soldier. Why not tell them how he—"

Kenma speaks and spears of ice form in the air, ten in total, flying towards the sorcerer with devastating speed and accuracy like one of Kageyama's arrows. The sorcerer dives and rolls, landing upright on his knees, and growls lowly at Kenma, the sound like it’s from an animal and not a man.

“Don’t be rude,” the sorcerer chastises as he rises to his feet. "We were talking." 

"You're done talking," Ushijima says then shouts, “Azumane, Sawamura, Iwaizumi, with me!”

The three men seem to understand and when Ushijima charges, they charge with him. But they don’t get far, brown dirt coming up from beneath the grass and swallowing their legs to their knees. Hinata wonders how easily the dirt could rise up, how easy it would be for the sorcerer to smother them in the ground and bury them alive. Are they being toyed with?

"Tsukishima, free them," Kenma orders.

It’s then that Tsukishima moves in concert with Kenma. As Tsukishima breaks the ground holding them down, the dirt crumbling in pieces, Kenma casts a spell that snaps the sorcerer’s arms against his body, holding him tight as with an invisible rope. The sorcerer strains against these unseeable bonds, grunting as he glares at the four men charging him once more.

But the sorcerer does not drop his staff, even when his arms are bound. He shouts out a spell, breaking his bonds and soaring into the sky as Azumane, Sawamura, Iwaizumi, and Ushijima close in, weapons drawn. Their honed reflexes are the only reason they don't chop each other to bits, digging their feet into the ground to stop or halting their weapons mid swing. Hinata can see Sawamura's axe just inches above Ushijima's arm.

The sorcerer comes down to the ground with force, leaving a large dent in the ground like his body was impossibly heavy, the shockwave knocking back the four closest to him. When he lands, Kageyama and Yamaguchi release a flurry of arrows and Sugawara throws one of his hidden daggers, but none of them land, blocked by a wall of dirt twice as tall as any man.

"Can you make fog?" Kenma asks Tsukishima, who nods.

As the sorcerer shots balls of fire at Ushijima and Iwaizumi, and Yamaguchi and Kageyama keep firing their arrows, Tsukishima casts a spell that creates a rolling wave of thick white fog from the tip of his staff. Heavy, it rolls across the ground, until Kenma casts his spell, moving his hands and staff slowly, controlling the fog, bringing it up over the sorcerer and condensing it. It grows darker like a storm cloud. Not like, Hinata realizes a moment later, a real storm cloud that cracks and bursts, sending several sharp bolts of flashing lighting down to the sorcerer, who curses and brings the earth around him like a sphere

When the cloud has dispersed, the hollow sphere crumbles, but the sorcerer is not inside. Azumane and Sawamura rush forward and see a hole, spinning, wondering where the sorcerer is now. Hinata waits, trying to listen, but he can't hear the man moving beneath the earth.

The sorcerer erupts from the ground suddenly behind Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. Yamaguchi stumbles and falls in shock, while Tsukishima turns with a curse, hitting the sorcerer in the head with his staff. His head jerks to the side, but slowly rights itself.

The sorcerer smiles. "Oh, he would have liked you," he says, then raises his staff and sends Tsukishima flying several feet back, his feet completely lifting from the ground. Yamaguchi and Sugawara run to his side, helping him to his feet, trying to get him even further away from the sorcerer before he can cast his next spell.

“You’ll have to steal my tongue if you want to stop me!” the sorcerer shouts at Kenma. “But you can’t do that, can you? Not to Kuroo, the one that saved from that horrible, horrible life as some nobleman’s fucktoy.”

Anger overcomes Hinata. He charges, shouting wildly, while Kageyama and Tsukishima call him an idiot and Yamaguchi shouts at him to stop. He doesn’t get far, a blue ball of fire forcing him to dodge and roll, then another, making him retreat all together. They're so hot. They only pass him for a second, but he's sweating from their heat. They singe the hair on the back of his hands and heat the metal under his grip. If not for the leather on his hilt, his hands would be burned. 

"Regroup, pull back!" Sawamura orders, all of them and they fall back into a circle around the sorcerer.

"Enough of these games!" the sorcerer shouts. "Shall I tear you from limb to limb, or cut your middles and make you watch as your guts pour out? Shall I strange you with them? Tell me, how do you want to die, you pitiful humans?"

Hinata shivers. He has seen Tsukishima use magic to cut fabric or wood, but never a human. Is the same simple spell used? Can Kenma do it too? What horrible things can a mage do if they are powerful enough?

“Can’t you exorcise it?” Hinata asks Kenma. “You said you knew the spell.”

"I only get one shot," Kenma replies. "The spell will drain me completely. It's best if we weaken him first."

"I don't know if that's possible," Sugawara says. "We can't get near him, even with yours and Tsukishima's magic. He's too strong."

"Then just do it," Hinata says simply, sparing a look at Kenma. "We have your back. All of us."

Kenma hesitates for the briefest moment then turns his head and looks at Hinata.

“Protect me, Shouyou,” Kenma says quietly and he closes his eyes.

“You little,” the sorcerer growls. “You won’t get the chance!”

Kenma lifts his staff high. When he speaks, his voice is louder than Hinata has ever heard from him, clear and strong. If words had colors, Kenma’s voice is white light from the sun, brighter and hotter than anything else in the realm.

"Eac anweald paet béon beorht, paet béon bilehwit, paet béon ealdan ond ealla, ic abanne þú!"

The sorcerer growls, an inhuman noise, his staff raised to cast another spell.

Hinata puts his shield in front of him, bracing for the impact of another elemental spell. But Kenma does not stop talking. Tsukishima always says mages can't just stop when they start a spell. Hinata curses and moves in front of Kenma, holding his shield in front of both of them to protect him when he can’t protect himself. Whether it is fire, or wind, or earth, or lightning from the heavens, Hinata will block it.

A wave of harsh wind whips from the sorcerer’s hands, tunneling towards them like a tornado. It’s stronger than before, stronger than anything Hinata has ever felt and far colder. It's so cold it burns worse than fire, his skin going tight and painful, blood rushing to core and weakening his extremities. It's then that he sees the ice creeping along the ground, biting the grass with frost. 

Hinata’s feet dig into the ground under the force of the blizzard, but he does not fall. If he falls, Kenma will be knocked back and Kenma is the key to victory in this battle.

None of the others can move. Azumane drops to his knee and pulls Sugawara against his chest, holding out his large metal shield to protect them both from the torrent of freezing wind. Tsukishima’s hands fly out as he produces a counter wind to protect him and Yamaguchi, but Hinata can still see their breath. Sawamura and Iwaizumi have dropped to their knees, clinging to the freezing grass, fists full of cold dirt. Ushijima’s sword is buried in the ground, hands wrapped tight around its hilt as he kneels and tries to rise to his feet without success.

The wind grows stronger, not stopping, the ice creeping closer and closer, and Hinata grunts in strain as he braces against the shield with both hands. He doesn't know if he's going to be flown away or freeze to death. 

Kenma’s eyes glow golden like the god they struck down. His voice does not falter: "Forlaetan þeos lic ond tofleon for ealla - fyrst a cume!"

Hinata can’t tell what Kenma is saying, but he knows he’s not asking the demon to kindly leave. Kenma pushes his staff towards the sorcerer and bright light erupts from the top, pouring over the battlefield like rain. White bolts of light rain down, disappearing upon impact with the ground around it, melting the snow and ice. When the light hits the others, it does nothing, but that is not true for the sorcerer.

The sorcerer’s chokes on his own growl, his jaw snapping shut with a click Hinata swears he can hear. His skin smokes where the blinding white light touches him and he hisses at Kenma, his eyes black as coal and filled with hate and rage. Even the whites of his eyes are black. For the first time, the sorcerer looks like the demon it is.

The sorcerer's spell stops, the air warming. He falls to his knees and his jaw drops so far it must dislocate as pure black miasma seeps from his mouth like rolling fog. Hinata has never seen anything so black. Not the darkest of nights, or the most violent of storms. It’s thick and unearthly, like fog you so thick it has to be solid, almost like a sludge.

Hinata takes one look at Kenma and reaches out for him. Kenma’s legs shake and he steadies himself with his staff, the brilliant light gone. Hinata grabs ahold of Kenma’s shoulders and Kenma sags against him as his knees give out under his weight.

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks.

“The demon is leaving his body,” Kenma says weakly, not answer Hinata’s question.

Kenma lifts his head to look at the sorcerer. Kenma is frowning and making small strained noises, like he’s struggling to stay awake and keeps nodding off. Whatever spell that was, it drained him completely, just like he said, but he is determined to watch whatever comes next.

The black has stopped pouring from the sorcerer’s mouth, his jaw shut once more. The thick cloud of black pools around the sorcerer’s body, swirling ominously like it’s alive and the thought sends cold shivers up Hinata’s spine. Will they have to fight the demon in a different form?

But his panic is for naught. The black begins to dissolve into the earth, disappearing before their eyes. As the last of the black dissolves, Kuroo’s body tips to the side, falling to the ground without resistance. He does not reach out to stop it, his limbs limp at his sides. He hits the ground hard and does not get up.

The demon is gone.

The battle is won.

But it doesn’t feel that way.

Kenma jerks, trying to get away from Hinata’s grasp so he can go and see. Hinata changes his grip, throwing one of Kenma’s arms over his shoulders to help him walk over. Kenma is quiet as Hinata practically drags him next Kuroo’s body, but Hinata knows what Kenma’s brain is busy with thought. He’s wondering if the exorcism worked. He’s praying Kuroo is not dead. He’s praying he was not the one to kill his dearest friend.

The others reach Kuroo before they do. Iwaizumi has pulled Kuroo’s head into his lap, shouting at him not to die, while Sugawara kneels next to Kuroo and takes out his healing staff to see what he can do.

Kenma drops to his knees next to Kuroo’s waist, reaching out to grab Kuroo’s shoulder.

Ushijima looks down at Kenma. “Your exorcism… You spoke in the language of the gods,” Ushijima says, clearly shocked, though it doesn’t really show on his face. Hinata just sort of figures he’s shocked. It doesn’t sound like something Ushijima knew.

Kenma glares up at him.

“Only the warrior monks of Shiratorizawa are permitted to study that language.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot know; I am the White Mage and I was born speaking the language of the gods!” Kenma snaps harshly. “The gods grant healers and mages their powers because they speak their tongue. Your kingdom declares it a crime because you think we steal their power, but it is granted to us willingly by the gods themselves. If you stopped and _listened_ to the people you hunted before killing them, maybe you would know that!”

Ushijima quiets.

There’s a weak chuckle from a voice Hinata doesn’t recognize. All at once, they look at the Kuroo, who is grinning, his eyes open and human once more.

“You’re the same as always,” Kuroo says, his voice rough and scratchy. “Loud only when you’re tired.”

Iwaizumi bursts out into laughter while Kenma frowns.

“Thanks for getting rid of that thing,” Kuroo adds, grinning faintly. “It took up too much space and didn’t clean it’s room.”

“Quiet,” Sugawara chastises Kuroo. “Save your strength.”

Kuroo reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small blue orb the size of a marble. “The princess,” he tells them before his eyes fall shut and he wheezes, his breaths pained and labored.

Kenma finds Kuroo’s hand but does not take the orb. Instead, he holds Kuroo’s hand in his lap, squeezing tightly. Kuroo does not seem to have the energy to squeeze back.

“Aetie mec þá séocnes,” Sugawara chants, moving his staff over Kuroo’s body, the crystal on top glowing a sickly mix of bone white and blood red. The color makes Sugawara frown deeply, his expression grave. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s as if his body has been ripped apart from the inside. I don’t know if I can fix this…”

“Try,” Kenma pleads, squeezing Kuroo’s hand that much tighter.

Sugawara looks at him and nods, resolved to do what he can.

Kuroo coughs wetly, the sound rattling in his chest. Hinata’s never heard someone cough like that, like his lungs are loose or in pieces.

“Ahlúttre þá séocnes,” Sugawara says, closing his eyes in concentration and slowly moving his staff from his heart down his chest. “Ogether þá wunda. Feormian þá yfel blod. Apyffan nu.”

Several breaths pass.

“It’s not doing anything,” Kenma complains, voice broken. “He’s dying. He’s dying like they always do.”

Sugawara studies the color of the crystal, a darker red now, like raw venison meat.

“Misse paet cwalu,” Sugawara casts, eyes closed in concentration, the crystal rattling on the top of the staff with the power of the healing spell. “Bot ond tile. Apyffan gast!”

The second the words leave his mouth, the crystal shatters into a thousand pieces so small they look like bloody sand. They catch on the wind and fall onto Kuroo, disappearing into the folds of his robes.

“Shit,” Sawamura curses. “That’s not a good sign, is it?”

Suddenly, Kuroo coughs violently. Bloody bile rises from his mouth, coating his lips and chin. Iwaizumi quickly rolls him onto his side and Sugawara tosses his staff to the side. Sugawara pries open Kuroo’s mouth and looks inside, then reaches in and scoops out his bloody vomit so that his airway is not blocked.

Then Kuroo’s entire body convulses, teeth slamming down on Sugawara’s fingers. Sugawara gasps sharply. With a curse, Iwaizumi grips Kuroo’s jaw and forces it open, allowing Sugawara to free his fingers.

“Come on, Kuroo,” Kenma murmurs, his hand the one thing keeping Kuroo’s arm still at his side as he shakes.

Sugawara uses his hand to feel at Kuroo’s neck, pressing at different spots for something before settling on one spot and resting his fingers there.

“His pulse is erratic,” Sugawara tells them and Hinata has no idea what that means. It doesn’t sound good.

When Kuroo’s body finally stills, his head rolling limply to the side on Iwaizumi’s thighs, they put Kuroo on his back again. His head remains limp in Iwaizumi’s lap like the ragdoll Hinata’s little sister used to play with. He wheezes with every breath, lips smeared red with blood, his skin an odd color.

Hinata has never seen a man die like this. It’s more unsettling than someone bleeding out from a stab wound. There, they often pass out, or go into shock. There is not much of a struggle if it is a mortal wound. It’s quick. Surely it’s not painless, but their pain does not drag on. This is painful to watch. This will haunt Hinata in his dreams.

“What can we do?” Yamaguchi asks.

“I don’t know,” Sugawara says, sounding desperate and lost. “That was my strongest healing spell. There’s no visible wound for me to treat. It’s his organs. His body is— _it’s in pieces_.”

Kenma’s hand is still tight with Kuroo’s. He brings it to his mouth and mutters something. It doesn’t feel like a spell—Hinata doesn’t know how spells feel, exactly, but it just seems more like he’s talking to him.

“Leofaaþ,” he says, almost like a prayer. “ _Leofaaþ_.”

Hinata does not speak the language of the gods, but he knows Kenma is begging him to live.

Hinata puts a hand on Kenma’s shoulder and kneels next to him. His voice is caught in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do, or how to help. He wants so badly to help and he just can’t.

Kenma’s best friend is dying—his worst fear come to life—and Hinata can’t do anything to ease his pain. 

It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Kenma…” Hinata trails off. Nothing he can say will help.

Kenma curls forward, shaking. Hinata aches for Kenma, his hand rubbing up and down his back to try and ease his pain as Kuroo breathes shallowly beneath him, like each breath is a struggle and the next may be his last.

“This can’t be happening,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head, but he does not get up to leave, does not move his eyes as his friend dies in front of him. “Godsdamn it, Kuroo. You can't do this. You don't get to fucking do this!"

No one says anything for a long moment.

“He’s still breathing,” Yamaguchi says, sounding uncertain, a little hopeful.

“I don’t know for how much longer,” Sugawara says sadly. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do since the crystal on my staff broke.”

But no matter how long they wait, Kuroo does not stop breathing.


	17. Remnants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't put additional warnings before chapters, but this chapter is a bit different than usual as well as a bit darker (or, hopefully it’s darker, if I did my job right). Mentions of cannibalism though it doesn't take place and explicit description of a necrotic wound.
> 
> As always, hover over text that's a different language for a translation.

Kuroo does not die, but he does not wake up either. He remains in a realm between life and death, awake but asleep, well but ill.

Tsukishima does not know why they spend so much effort into keeping this man alive. He was their enemy just moments ago. Why should he get to live just because he’s friends with Iwaizumi and Kenma, when their other enemies have been left without a second thought? If it was a stranger who was possessed, they would not care about the body it left behind, so why do they now, in this situation?

Besides, no one has ever survived an exorcism. There is no reason to believe this man will be the first. It would be smarter to cut their losses and return to the capital.

While Kuroo sleeps, the White Mage takes the orb given to him and releases the princess from her prison. The orb expands then shatters, leaving the princess barefoot in a pale-colored nightgown.

She is unsteady on her feet, swaying, before her eyes close and she falls limply to the side. Several dive to catch her, but it’s Sawamura’s arms she falls into, her head resting against his chest and his arms wrapped carefully around her.

“Is she okay?” Sawamura asks with a concerned frown. Her face presses into his chest purposefully, like she is nuzzling into a pillow.

Sugawara comes forward and places his hand under her nose to check for breath then against her neck for her pulse.

“She seems okay,” Sugawara says cautiously. “I think she’s just asleep, but I don’t know much about the effects of imprisonment spells. Kenma?”

“It’s a side-effect of the orb,” Kenma confirms. “She’ll wake up soon.”

Sawamura nods, holding her close, and several others let out audible sighs of relief.

“We should set up camp,” Ushijima suggests. He looks to the sky. “Night will be upon us soon.”

They travel with great difficulty. Sawamura carries Michimiya, who wakes relatively quickly, blushing furiously when she realizes who is holding her so gently. They don’t need to move far that night, just to the edge of a forest where they set up camp, but it takes them far longer than it should with Kuroo in tow. Unlike Michimiya, he does not wake so easily and his body is far more fragile.

Tsukishima does not know how they will manage to drag Kuroo’s limp, unresponsive, broken body all the way back to Sendai. They don’t have a wagon to throw him in, nor the money to stop somewhere and purchase one, and they will never make it at this crawling pace. Tsukishima would suggest they just leave him, but he knows Kenma and Iwaizumi will not allow it, not while he still breathes.

It’s the first time they’ve properly set up camp since chasing the sorcerer. Before, they just laid in the grass, occasionally spreading out blankets, retiring late and starting early. They wasted no time in setting up proper camp, only a fire at most. Now, they set up their tents and send out Kageyama and Yamaguchi to hunt something to eat.

They put Kuroo in one of the few tents they have with them. Kenma and Sugawara watch over him while the others gather wood and water, starting a fire to prepare for whatever dinner Kageyama and Yamaguchi return with (the two soon come out of the forest lugging a reasonably sized deer, which Azumane and Ushijima prepare to eat).

Their meals have been short since they started chasing the sorcerer. Bread and jerky during short breaks near rivers for water, group bathroom breaks so they don’t waste more time than necessary. Tsukishima is eager to be able to sit down and eat without being forced back onto a horse a minute later.

The warmth of the fire soothes the aches in his bones, and the ash and soot are a familiar, calming scent. Everyone seems exhausted, even the “mighty” warrior Ushijima. He does not slouch as he eats, but there is a slowness to his mechanical movements. Kageyama is half asleep while he eats and if Tsukishima had more energy himself, he would mock the man for it.

Sawamura brings the princess her share of food as well as a blanket, draping it carefully over her shoulders. She smiles as she tugs it around her, thanking him, and Tsukishima has never seen two people be so obvious and he can’t understand how no one else sees what he does. People never pay attention like they should.

As they eat, there is a lot of discussion about how Kuroo should be transported to the capital. Should he be treated as a prisoner? He’s not possessed anymore, but does possession resolve the man of the crimes his body committed? Is there a chance the demon lingers in his body, that Kenma did not exorcise it completely? Could Kuroo’s mind have been altered beyond repair? Is he now evil like the creature that possessed him for months? Will he ever wake up?

No one knows the answers.

No one has ever survived this long after an exorcism.

In the end, it’s Michimiya that makes the call and she is far kinder than Tsukishima would have been. Even after being encased in some magic glass orb, she bears Kuroo no ill will for what the demon made him do, though she is rightfully cautious.

If he wakes up, they will bind his wrists but allow him to ride his own horse, though someone must always be next to him. His staff will be confiscated and kept at a distance at all times.

If he does not wake up, they will throw him over a horse’s back and travel slowly to Sendai as to not cause his body more harm.

It isn’t until after they’re all done eating and preparing to retire to their assigned tents that Hinata stands up and says, “I’m going to watch over Kuroo so Kenma and Sugawara can get some rest.”

Hinata trots off to the tent before anyone can say anything else. A few moments later, both Kenma and Sugawara walk out, looks of exhaustion on their faces. Even Kenma, who Tsukishima can have a hard time getting a read on, has his shoulders slumped and head tilted down more than normal.

“How’s it looking?” Sawamura asks when the men join them at the fire.

“I’ve never seen this type of damage. It’s like the demon ripped him apart when Kenma exorcised it. It didn’t want to leave his body. It clung to him from the inside.” Sugawara sighs and rubs at his face. “He should have someone other than Hinata looking over him. Hinata can’t tell a person with a fever from a dead body.”

“Someone with magic should go,” Kenma adds. He sits down next to Iwaizumi, who hands him a bowl with bread and venison and a cup of water. He mutters his thanks.

“Why?” Tsukishima asks, annoyed because he’s the only person besides Sugawara and Kenma that uses magic. By elimination, that means _he_ has to watch over their fallen enemy.

“Kuroo can sense magic,” Kenma says. He has said similar things before but Tsukishima is no closer to understanding what the man means. How can someone sense magic? He adds, “I think it may help him heal faster to have another magic user nearby.”

Tsukishima scowls.

“You just have to sit there, Tsukishima,” Sawamura says with a look Tsukishima has come to learn you should not question.  

“I thought you said your powers were granted to you,” Ushijima says, skepticism and an odd note of confusion in his voice.

“Even if you speak the language of the gods, not everyone can use magic,” Sugawara says. “Different people have different affinities. It’s why most people can only do healing or elemental magic, but doing both is so incredibly rare it’s almost unheard of.”

“Kuroo can sense that affinity,” Kenma adds. “It’s an innate ability that requires no spell.”

Sawamura arches an eyebrow at Tsukishima, who had been hoping they forgot about him.

Tsukishima begrudgingly stands up and walks towards the tent, parting the curtains. It’s a small tent that could fit three people if they laid side by side, but there is plenty of room with only one occupant and Hinata, who sits with his hands in his lap.

There, lying on a small pile of blankets, is the evil sorcerer, the Arc Mage of Aobajousai, Kuroo Tetsurou.

He is naked from the waist up, wearing only tight black pants. He’s more muscular than Tsukishima expected, yet he looks wasted away with ghastly dark circles under his eyes and large, reddish bruises that creep along his ribs around to his back. His pale skin looks dewy with sweat and sometimes, when he breathes, Tsukishima swears he can hear something thick rattling around in his chest.

No one in their group got close enough to Kuroo during the fight to make those bruises, let alone to do this kind of damage. Either he had them before, or the exorcism really did tear that thing out of him.

Tsukishima wonders if it hurt, if he felt anything at all while possessed, if he remembered it with painful clarity or lived it in a daze. Tsukishima is not sure which he would prefer. Probably to be dead, if he had to be honest.

Tsukishima sits on the other side of Kuroo’s waist across from Hinata. There’s a bowl of water next to him with a wringed out half-dry rag on the lip. He considers dragging the cool damp cloth across the man’s forehead but decides against it. Why should he care if this man is comfortable? He’s asleep—comfort is not a thought he is capable of—and Tsukishima’s only here to watch him in case he starts to worsen or wakes up.

When he looks at Hinata, all he sees are the subtle, anxious movements of his limbs. It’s all Tsukishima can focus on. The swordsman has only been here for five minutes and he’s already bored.

Tsukishima sighs. “You’re so annoying when you’re jittery. Go be with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hinata says, but doesn’t sound like he’s denying anything, more like he’s stating a fact, and he does not question who Tsukishima means.

He looks at Tsukishima in a way that makes him uncomfortable, like he’s looking through him. Tsukishima hates that look.

Hinata jumps to his feet quickly enough, brushing off his pants. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “Just go already.”

Through the flaps of the tent, Tsukishima can see him run towards the fire where Kenma is still slouched near Iwaizumi.

They don’t send anyone else to join him in watching over this man. Yamaguchi pokes his head in and asks if he wants company, but Tsukishima tells him to sleep. He doesn’t want to have to babysit two people tonight, and that’s what he’s going to have to do if Yamaguchi joins him. The man is exhausted, has been for days. They all are.

But Tsukishima is used to exhaustion. He hardly sleeps as is, plagued with insomnia. No number of tonics or potions apothecaries have given him have helped. He is used to this exhaustion, these heavy limbs and sore joints.

He almost wishes he could trade places with this man, who seems to sleep so peacefully.

 

* * *

 

The royal library is still such a wondrous place to Kuroo. Rows and rows of books stacked higher than any man can reach without the aid of a ladder. There are stairs that descend to lower rooms and stairs that ascend into higher towers.

He trails his fingers along the row of the books as he walks down the hall. He feels their bumps and imperfections, their cracks and waxy finish. These books are still new. There are books chained by their spines in the highest towers, where the oldest and most valuable tomes are collected, books that were made in the time before paper.

There, he read a peculiar book about how books were made before paper became popular. There were lists of chemicals and carefully inked caricatures showing animal skin being pulled taught in all directions and the curve blade that was used to remove the softened fur. There were lengthy discussions on which animals were the best and most practical, and which were useless, and how some authors found joy in using a particular type of skin because they had once been wronged by that type of animal. How an animal can wrong a human, Kuroo does not know.

Since reading that book, all he can think of when he walks the long halls of the royal library is, _Is this book a plant or an animal?_

 

* * *

 

Kuroo is still so fucking hungry some nights.

He doesn’t know where it comes from. He can eat and eat until he is sick then eat some more, filling the void he has just created in his stomach, and he would still crave more. He can lick the juices on his fingers and shovel crumbs into his mouth and it is never, ever enough. His hunger is vast, it is endless, and it aches and aches inside his belly.

He feels he will never be truly full.

 

* * *

 

His master insists he keeps a journal, so he does. At first, when he could hardly read or write and could not do more than scribble a few words in whatever language he was learning that day, it was a painful task. Now, he enjoys the calmness of the moment, the scratch of his quill against the paper and the curve of the letters as he fills page after page with his thoughts and theories.

That calm is disrupted when someone knocks on his door.

“Come in,” Kuroo calls.

Prince Oikawa lets himself in without a word and sits on his bed, swinging his legs over the edge. He looks out of his place in his high-collared shirt and his silver crown. Kuroo’s room is a tiny space crammed tight with piles of books and oddities. Princes do not belong in places like this.

His interactions with the young crown prince have been minimal at best. He still does not know all of the rules of how to act around royalty. At this point, he is almost certain his master will not throw him out, but he knows this castle is not his master’s home, not really. His master may live here, but this castle is not his. This castle belongs to the royal family, to the prince’s father, and Kuroo does not want to anger the prince and risk being thrown out into the cold.

“I was told by the Arc Mage I could find you here.”

“And what is it you wanted?” Kuroo asks, as pleasant as he can manage.

“Would you like to kill people with me?” Prince Oikawa asks cheerfully, watching his legs swing back and forth. “We can cut off their fingers and feed them to them, or throw acid at them and listen to their screams. Iwaizumi and I like cut them open and see how long they last afterwards, but the guards always catch us and ruin it!”

“I’ve never played those games,” Kuroo says calmly. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

His head hurts all of the sudden. This isn’t how this went, is it? Why is he saying something so calmly to that?

Prince Oikawa’s legs stop. He looks up, his face crooked by his wide toothy smile, lips stretched too far and too thin, eyes too dark.

“I can teach you!”

Kuroo blinks.

Now, he sees nothing but a child. A child that just said: _Would you like to play with me?_ not _Would you like to kill people with me?_

So why did he hear the later and not the first?

The first time, he heard it properly. Now, he does not.

“Or we could play other games,” Prince Oikawa says kindly. “There’s one I’ve seen commoners play with glass spheres. Do you know that one?”

“Marbles?” Kuroo asks with a frown.

“Yes!” Prince Oikawa confirms. He jumps off the bed and is halfway to the door before he looks over his shoulder at Kuroo and eagerly asks, “Are you coming? You can’t say you know it and then _not_ show me.”

“I’m coming, My Lord.”

 

* * *

 

Kuroo knows the pond behind Seijoh Castle is sacred to House Oikawa. He read once that a god drank from its waters. That a god had died there. That the members of the royal family were buried there to join that god in the afterlife.

“What do you see when you look at this pond, Tetsurou?” his master had asked when they were alone at the pond, a few nights after he was brought back to Seijoh.

“It’s not normal,” Kuroo replied, watching as colors swirled underneath the surface. “There’s magic here. It’s… It’s beautiful.”

His master just smiled, not seeing what Kuroo was seeing. No one ever saw what Kuroo saw.

One night, under the light of the full moon, he sneaks out behind the castle, staff in hand. He makes his way through the thick forest, naming off the trees and plants as he passes them, a test to himself— _Tsuga, Cedrus, Rubus._ He snags a few thimbleberries as he passes by the last one, the juices wet on his lips and fingers and dribbling down his chin to be wiped hastily by the back of his hand.

He stands in front of the pond, wondering what lies in wait beneath the surface and where the swirling colors come from, if they run deep to the bottom or merely float. The full moon rests on its surface now, but that is not what lies underneath. The surface is deceptive, his master once told him while he worked out a particularly old riddle to reveal a spell it hid.

His hands clench around his staff, a long stick of willow wood given to him just last week, a sign that his master is pleased with his studies and advancement. A mage cannot be a true mage without a staff, his master told him when he gave it to him early in the morning after a breakfast of eggs and sausage and toasted bread.     

Now, he lifts his staff and focuses his magic in its length, feeling it amplify rapidly, growing and growing and _growing_ until—

“Cleofan þá amel.”

The whoosh of water makes him grin widely, victorious.

He opens his eyes to see the pond split in two, the waters pushed to the side and up in the snow-covered grass at the edges. He rushes to the edge of the pond, dropping to his knees, and looks down into its empty bowels.

Bodies. Piles and piles of them.

His mistakes for their faces for algae, their skin a greenish-black, almost rotten, swollen and bruised beyond recognition. The bodies are not all there either. Bits and pieces are missing, exposed, small specks of grayish red where muscle and fat once were having been eaten away by tiny fish or other creatures. Other parts of their bodies that are not covered in expensive pelts or eaten away and are pale white, the color Kuroo expected. Some expand in strange ways, bloated with noxious gas, bulges of half-decomposed flesh pushing at the constraints of the iron chains.

Beneath the bodies, he sees a set of massive horns, too massive to belong to any creature of this realm. Long and gnarled and twisted like the roots of a massive oak tree, the bone white horns spread out in all directions, oddly reminiscent of fingers to giant hands. A cradle, he thinks, a furrow to his brow.

Beautiful color pours from the horns. They twist and swirl together into white, pure white so beautiful Kuroo has never seen anything like it, hadn't even known the color existed. White that glows all other colors at the edge, white that does not belong to this world.

A god had died here, he thinks. Is this the magic of a god?

One of the bodies shifts, tumbling, and Kuroo reels back, jumping to his feet. Their face is tilted towards him and Kuroo stares and stares and stares, and he thinks they are staring back.

The spell breaks. The water comes crashing down, hitting hard like waves of the sea. Not all of the water makes it back into the pond.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says as he slowly backs away, his voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to disturb your rest. Please forgive me. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and runs, the wind sounding like whispers and feeling like gentle fingers trying to clasp the back of his neck and stop him.

 

* * *

 

Gods, he’s so _hungry_.

He’s just had lunch with his master. He ate so slow, savored every bite, every fucking second food was in his mouth. He thinks of how much food was on the plate and how it would fit in his stomach to try and convince his mind he is full. He knows how large his stomach should be for his age.

But he’s fucking starving like he never ate at all.

He sits on the floor of his master’s workshop with a book in his lap, tucked behind some dusty statue, feeling oddly safe there on a day where he feels nothing but anxiety. Soon he will be too large to crawl in these nooks and crannies when the hunger overcomes him. He dreads that day. But for now, he feels safe.

He chews on the corner of his thumb where the skin is thick and peeling and tells himself he will not eat his fucking skin, there’s no reason, he’s not hungry, and even if he was, a bit of skin isn’t going to suddenly fill him.

“The whole thumb might do something to fill your hunger,” his master says.

Kuroo looks up from his book. His master is looking at him with a small smile, like he just revealed a secret. Kuroo smiles back.

Then he is back to work, humming, working with some tool Kuroo has yet to learn, and Kuroo looks back at his book.

Kuroo opens his mouth to ask _What did you say?_

But he did not speak here. He looked up because his master cursed and they shared a small smile.

His master did not say those words, but he heard them.

Who said them?

Were they even said?

He can’t remember.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo is with his master in his workshop when a servant knocks on the door to relay a message.

“A caribou has been injured in a hunt.”

Kuroo has exactly seven question as they hurry outside, putting on their cloaks and gloves as they go, but he only asks one.

“What does this have to do with us?”

“I’ll explain when we get there,” his master replies.  

Kuroo waits patiently, holding his tongue with such resolve he may as well have bitten and swallowed it whole. He does not ask a single question as they delve deep into the forest, past the sacred pond to the knights’ hunting grounds in the mountains.

There, huddled around a creature on the ground, are several knights and the king.

“May I see?” his master asks, putting a hand on one of the knight’s shoulders to gently move them.

The king looks up and sees Kuroo’s master and sighs sadly. He shakes his head, looking back at the creature on the forest floor.

It seems half dead, each breath a struggle. Kuroo stills with every exhale, waiting for it to inhale, anticipating the moment it will not. Its antlers reach back and curve upward in a beautiful arc before branching out, their pattern oddly familiar. Kuroo swears he has seen them somewhere before but larger and glowing with color.

Now, his master puts a hand on the caribou’s head and strokes the rough fur between its antlers, trying to sooth it. “Oh, you poor, beautiful creature,” his master laments quietly. He looks to the king. “Do you want to do the deed, Sire?”

The king nods solemnly and lifts a dagger from his belt. Kuroo watches the king move to a different position while several other knights grab the caribou by the horns, the rest holding its body still. His master does not move, even as the dying creature bucks, trying to shake off the hands on it. But their grips are too strong, the creature remaining frustratingly still, while his master strokes its head in a pointless attempt to comfort it.

His master closes his eyes and says, “Ferian grið ond leoht a þin faru.”

Kuroo watches the king’s dagger dive deep into the caribou’s neck and carve through its flesh with a single, sure motion. Thick, warm blood seeps from the wound, staining the forest floor crimson.

Kuroo stares into its wet eyes, wishing he could help, wondering why this had to happen, what this is all about.

And finally, its next inhale does not come.

For several seconds after it takes its last breath, its eyes are still wet, still _alive_. Kuroo wonders if it can still feel after it stopped breathing, if it can still see. How long does that moment last? He imagines his own head rolling from a guillotine and wonders what he would see, what he would feel, how terrifying such a moment is.

Kuroo looks away from its eyes, not wanting to be the last thing any creature sees before its death.

On their way back to the castle, his master sighs and says, “Know I took no pleasure in that, Tetsurou, but it had to be done. The creature was suffering. We gave it a swift, painless death.”

“You cast a spell without your staff,” Kuroo points out. “I didn’t recognize it.”

“Ah, that was not a spell. ‘Blessing’ might be a more proper term. It was a saying to bring the creature to rest peacefully and respectfully. Caribou are sacred to House Oikawa. They are their family animal and are not to be hunted or harmed at any cost. If a caribou is harmed accidentally during a hunt, or found sick beyond aide in the forest, I am called to give it a blessing before it is sent on to its next life.”

“Why caribou? None of the books ever explain why. Wolves and bears are stronger than caribou and they live in these mountains too. Why didn’t House Oikawa pick those for their symbolic animal?”

“Because the god that once protected these mountains now sleeps at the bottom of the pond it drank from daily, the very pond that rests behind the castle. House Oikawa believes that even in death, the god protects them and the people they rule. That god supposedly took on the shape of a massive caribou.”

Kuroo feels a familiar touch on the back of his neck and he shivers.

 

* * *

 

 _White_.

White so bright, so beautiful, it almost seems like a new color, but he's seen it somewhere before.

He looks to the source and sees a boy in chains.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo steps quietly and peeks around the corner of the bookcase with a grin, trying to catch any small glimpses of movement. He knows he’s in here. He hadn’t heard the door open. Kuroo knows that no matter how hard you try to stop it, that door will creak. So he has to be somewhere in the library.

This time for sure, he will find Kenma.

He runs down the line of bookcases, a smile on his face as he looks around for the smaller boy. When he rounds the corner, he comes to a stop, and looks down slightly.

There on the ground lies Kenma’s broken and bloody body. His limbs are twisted, pointed in all the wrong directions, bent in ways limbs should not be bent. His eyes are glassy but still wet, still alive, just like that horned creature on the forest floor.

He wants to reel back, to look away, but he doesn’t. He _can’t_. He’s not disgusted, or distraught. He’s happy at seeing the boy he rescued from slavers just three months ago, his best friend, lying bloody and broken on the floor of the library.

“Found you!” Kuroo says cheerfully with a wide smile.

He blinks.

Kenma is no longer lying on the ground, but standing in front of him. There is no blood on his body and his limbs are all pointed in the right direction. His chest rises and falls and his eyes flick to the side.

“You found me because I wanted to be found. I got bored waiting for you to find me.” Flatly, perhaps a little disappointed, Kenma adds, “You’re bad at hide and seek, Kuroo.”

“I am not!”

“You are. I’ve been waiting for ages. Can we play something else?”

Kuroo thinks. “Do you want to go steal some sweets from the kitchens then come back up here and play chess?”

Kenma nods.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo does not mind when Kenma follows him around the castle, or into the town. In fact, he enjoys the company, especially on days like today when he has a list of chores a mile long to complete before lunch. Kenma’s presence keeps him in high spirits, even if he does not say much.

They are walking through the middle layer where they happen upon a beggar. Her clothes are ratty and her hair is a messy nest fit for birds. Kuroo has seen hundreds of people like that in his life. For a short time in his life, he had been like that, while the other kids ran schemes. Sometimes he would call out to those who looked wealthy, asking for a coin or two, and a kid would picket their pocket dry while they were distracted.

As they walk past, her hand shoots out and long, bony fingers wrap loosely around his wrist. Her skin is cool and rough, cracked and bloody in all the crevices.

Kuroo startles to a halt, Kenma bumping into his side.

“Do not trust your mind,” she says, though her voice is his own, as if he is speaking through her mouth, “you dream naught but deceit in disguise.”

Kuroo looks at the woman, whose fingers fall from his wrist as she sets her eyes on the next well-dressed person walking by.

But she had said something, hadn’t she? Something strange. Hadn’t Kenma heard it? Hadn’t anyone heard it? Didn’t she at least remember saying it?

He thought about what she said.

_Please good sir, can you spare a coin?_

There was nothing strange about that. So why did he feel so uneasy? Why did he remember something else?

His own voice.

Was he trying to tell himself something?

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out three silver coins, and places them in the women’s basket before walking away.

 

* * *

 

The more years Kuroo spends at the castle, the more he comes to understand that the Arc Mage has their hands in every part of castle life. Whether it is sitting on the king’s council, or assisting the council physician in treatment, or burying the royal dead, the Arc Mage plays some part directly or indirectly.

Kuroo does not know how this came to be. Perhaps it is the lack of another man of magic, the lack of another man capable of speaking the language of the gods of old. Perhaps it is their vast knowledge on many things. Perhaps it is their wisdom and experience. Perhaps traditions come about in ways that are forgotten by history and we can only continue practicing them, lest we upset our ancestors.

Kuroo knows better than upset the dead.

One of the things an Arc Mage must know is anatomy. They are not physicians, or apothecaries, his master tells him, but they must understand both the human mind and body if they are ever to gain true enlightenment.

This means earning first-hand experience.

This means dissecting the corpse before it is to be burned to ash.

Kuroo watches his master cut into the corpse and break open the ribs and peel apart the layers of muscles to see the organs underneath. His leather gloves are soaked in blood and yellowish fat catches between his fingers before being wiped off on his apron.

Dinner has long since passed and Kuroo is so fucking _hungry_.

“Lungs,” his master says as he cuts them out, carefully avoiding the heart, “are an underutilized cooking ingredient. Dice it up with some liver and even a heart, stick it in the empty stomach with some oats and spices, and boil it and you have a perfectly good meal. It’s such a waste to just throw them away. Smokers are no good, though—leaves a nasty aftertaste.”

Kuroo watches his master carefully set one lung, then the second onto metal plates, pushing them aside.

“The heart is a tough but delicious muscle,” his master tells him. His hands reach deep into the man’s chest and cradle his heart from below, lifting it up but not pulling it out for Kuroo to see. “Best cooked in an iron pan with butter, onions, carrots, potatoes, and a bit of wine. Slice the heart into thin pieces and add in the rest. I prefer mine with a sprig of thyme.”

He picks up a knife and cuts out the heart. There is no seeping blood, not even a clot, the blood long since drained. The metal buckets full of the body’s blood rest under the workbench.

“Moving further down, we have the liver. A classic ingredient. Best with onions, of course, but tastes just as a good with some peppers and mushrooms. Would you like to remove the liver, Tetsurou?”

Kuroo nods and steps forward.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo follows his master as he walks briskly through the castle halls to the knights’ corridor where the knights’ personal chambers are located. It is not hard to figure out which room they are headed to. There is only one room surrounded by knights eagerly awaiting news on their comrade.

His master walks towards them and they part, allowing him to past like some holy being instead of the man he is.

His master knocks on the door without so much as a glance at the knights, his focus clear.

The council physician calls out calmly, “Come in.”

Sir Iwaizumi’s room is small, only slightly larger than the room Kuroo was given when he first came to the castle. There is little luxury in the room, except perhaps the bed and the servants that tend to it and the squires to shine the armor sitting on the floor, half-forgotten. Kuroo supposes a room to himself is a luxury in and of itself.

But now, this tiny room smells of sickness. Even with the windows opened, allowing the frigid winter air into the room, it reeks of rotten, stale death.

“Gods,” Kuroo gasps, mortified. He lifts his arm up, using the sleeve of his robe to filter the air reaching his nose and mouth in some attempt to fight it off.

“Shut the door behind you,” his master says calmly, seemingly unaffected.

Kuroo does as he is told.

He looks to the bed where Iwaizumi is spread on his back, bare from the waist up, skin clammy and moist with sweat, his breathing labored and pained. His eyes are squeezed shut, dark brows tight above his eyes.

The smell, Kuroo realizes with horror, is coming from Iwaizumi.

Two stools that look out of place in the room are near the bedside, one on either side. On one sits the council physician. On the other sits the crown prince.

“Infection, you said?” his master asks, getting straight to business.

He comes up alongside the physician, who has spread out several metal instruments on the nightstand next to burning candle that’s as thick as Kuroo’s arm. Long pieces of shining metal, both dull and sharp, curved and straight, some of which Kuroo recognizes from when his master performs autopsies.

Dead or alive, the tools do not change. Flesh is still flesh.

“Yes. My assistant is out and I would like a second pair of hands,” the physician confirms. “Yours are the most skilled I could think of.”

His master smiles and begins to roll up his sleeves before scrubbing his hands in a bowl of soapy water and drying them on a rag. He then leans over Iwaizumi while Kuroo circles the bed, going to stand next to Prince Oikawa.

On Iwaizumi’s left arm, halfway between his shoulder and elbow is a long, festering gash a knuckle deep. There are so many colors in and surrounding the wound, but none of them are from magic. They are all flesh. The most striking colors are the larger spread angry red that radiates outward and the wet, creamy whitish yellow along the open length of the wound like his flesh had melted.

No, not melted. _Rotted_.

His master presses hard at the end of the wound and yellow pus seeps from it in globs. Iwaizumi grits his teeth and groans as he slides his feet against the bed, desperate for some relief but not wanting to cry out, even in his delirium.

Kuroo’s stomach feels uneasy and not just from the smell. Prince Oikawa does not even flinch.

“Necrosis as a result of infection,” his master murmurs. “And are these burns?”

“His fellow knights boiled snow when they realized it was infected,” the physician supplies. “I’m sure it helped at the time, but it did not quell the infection completely.”

“Clearly.” His master hums. “And you’re thinking amputation?”

The physician hesitates, eyes flicking nervously to Prince Oikawa. “I believe it to be the best course of action due to the necrosis and continuing infection, yes.”

“You are not removing his arm,” Prince Oikawa says, his voice sharp like a dagger.

Kuroo looks down at the prince and realizes that he has been holding Iwaizumi’s right hand tightly this entire time. Rather, Iwaizumi is squeezing Prince Oikawa’s hand until his fingers have gone white, yet Prince Oikawa has not let it show on his face.

“Prince Oikawa,” the physician says, almost pleading, like they had been arguing about this for some time before Kuroo and his master arrived.

“It is his non-dominant arm, is it not?” his master inquires.

“It is,” Prince Oikawa confirms, “but you are not cutting it off.”

The physician sighs heavily. “The other option is to cut out the necrotic tissue and treat the infection with boiled wine and salves. However, if the necrosis is not cut out completely, the wound will not heal properly and it will be harder to treat the infection. He will lose his arm and possibly his life. His body is weak from starvation and dehydration as is.”

“Then be sure to cut out all of the necrosis,” Prince Oikawa says sternly.

There is so much power in his voice that no one would dare to question it. But it is not just his tone of voice. It is his posture and his eyes. It is his entire being, unwavering and strong.  

What an evil man with a power like that could do the world, Kuroo thinks.

“The infection will still pose a threat to his life, even without the necrosis,” the physician warns. “If we were to remove the arm, we remove the primary source of the infection.”

“And won’t cutting his arm just allow another infection to take hold?” Kuroo replies. “Besides, his body is exhausted from fighting the infection and being starved, like you said. He may not survive an amputation at this stage.”

“Tetsurou has a point,” his master says, struggling to hide his pride and remain professional.

Prince Oikawa’s eyes grow smug. “Do as I say,” the prince demands, his voice even and calm.

There is a short discussion about giving Iwaizumi poppy milk—why they hadn’t already, Kuroo does not know—but Oikawa refuses, saying Iwaizumi hates the substance. His master inserts a worn leather band between Iwaizumi’s teeth for him to bite on. Without poppy milk, he will scream and he will scream loudly.

Kuroo watches as they prepare the necessary tools, memorizing every step. The physician takes a sharp, surgical dagger used for cutting through flesh and flames it over the candle.

Kuroo has flayed human flesh and carved muscles all the way down to the bone, but he has always done this on corpses. He has never seen the process done on a live human. Now, he imagines the layers, superimposing them over Iwaizumi’s arm. Skin. Fat. Muscle. Bone. Veins and nerves spread throughout.

“My Lord,” the physician says with a quick glance at Prince Oikawa, “you may not want to see this. It will not be pleasant.”

“I do not care,” Prince Oikawa replies. “He is my knight and I will not leave him.” Prince Oikawa leans onto the edge of the bed and holds Iwaizumi’s hand in both of his. “Look at me, Hajime, and don’t look away. That’s an order.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes open, his gaze hazy as his head turns towards Prince Oikawa.

“Do it now,” Prince Oikawa orders, never looking away from Iwaizumi’s gaze.  

The metal carves into his flesh.

Iwaizumi bites down on the leather and screams.

 

* * *

 

The day his master dies, Kuroo stares down at his journal. It is not his first. The first and the second and the twenty odd journals that came after those sit in a chest under his bed. One day, his master always told him, Kuroo’s apprentice will want to read them to learn more about him. So he keeps them and he will continue to keep them until one day, he too is dead.

Is he now the master? He does not feel like a master. Is it time to share his journals? Is it time to share his knowledge? How would he even find an apprentice?

His mind is a race of thoughts.

He dips his quill into his inkwell and writes:

 

_It is all lies._

_Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies._

 

He rubs at his eyes, feeling tears there, and then looks at his journal anew.

 

_My master has passed._

_His body is to be burned, but he requested I dissect him first to refresh my knowledge on human anatomy. He said this with a smile. I do not know if he meant it, but I will follow his instructions as I always have. I have much to learn and so little time to learn it. Prince Oikawa tells me I will be appointed as the Arc Mage by the week’s end. I fear I am not ready. I fear I will fail him._

 

He continues to write.

 

* * *

 

It is tradition that the Arc Mage prepares the bodies of the royal family for burial. They must be stripped, their bodies cleaned and then wrapped in the finest furs. For men, the pelts of the creatures they have slain. For women, the pelts won by their husbands or other men in their family. Then, they are wrapped in heavy iron chains to prevent their bodies from floating to the surface of the pond.

In northern Aobajousai, where the winter lasts nearly all year, the royal family is sunk to the bottom of their sacred pond to lay with their ancient dead god while the rest are burned to ashes.

With some difficulty, Kuroo turns the dead king onto his side and runs a damp cloth down the curve of his spine. This was not a bloody death, but his skin must still be cleaned. Kuroo rubs his skin gently, dutifully, until he is done. He turns is back to the body to place the cloth back in its bowl of water.

Then, he hears a voice come from the dead king’s body.

“It’s coming,” Iwaizumi warns.

Kuroo picks up the first of three pelts. The first pelt will be the pelt the king won on to celebrate his engagement to the late queen, a gorgeous elk. The second will be a wolf he slayed for his daughter’s wedding. The third pelt will be the snow leopard he killed when he led his first hunt.

“It’s coming,” Prince Oikawa warns.  

He turns back to the body and see the head has shifted.

The dead king stares at him.

Kuroo stares back.

“It’s coming,” Kenma warns through the mouth of the dead king.

Kuroo blinks and the king’s head is turned upright, face towards the ceiling, having never moved at all.

Then, from behind him, a grizzly voice that does not belong to this world speaks into his ear, “I am here.”

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima hears the screams before he processes who they are coming from.

His immediate response is to grab his staff, ready to hurl a spell at whatever bandit or Aobajousai soldier comes running into the tent. But after a moment, he realizes the screams are coming from inside the tent.

They’re coming from Kuroo.

Kuroo, who thrashes underneath his blankets, kicking them as he flails, his movements sharp and unpredictable. His voice tears from his throat with a terror that Tsukishima has never heard in all his years. It’s raw and feral and terrifying and Tsukishima does not know how the hell to calm down someone who sounds like that.

Sugawara is the first in the tent, coming with with his broken staff, followed by Kenma, then by Iwaizumi and Azumane, who barrel in, weapons drawn. Kenma is the first to drop his staff, realizing the only threat is Kuroo.

“Hold him still,” Sugawara demands of them all, dropping to his knees next to Kuroo, whose head whips to the side.

His body stills. Wide eyed and terrified, he says, “I can hear them. Can’t you?” Almost like he is pleading, he repeats, “Can’t you?”

In that moment of calm, Kenma kneels next to his arm and reaches out to touch his shoulder. Then, the calm is gone.

Kuroo lashes out, knocking away Kenma’s arm and grabbing fistfuls of his loose sleeping tunic, reeling him in. He pulls Kenma down to his face and just stares, unblinking.

Iwaizumi grabs the back of Kenma’s shirt and pulls in the other direction. Kuroo easily lets go of Kenma’s tunic but does not stop staring. He just stares and stares, like an animal hunting its prey. He doesn’t even blink. How are his eyes not so dry they hurt? Is he simply ignoring it? Does he even feel pain?

“Kuroo,” Iwaizumi says in a cautious voice. Still, Kuroo’s eyes do not move from Kenma. “It’s me.”

“I know who you are,” Kuroo replies lowly. His eyes slide slowly to Iwaizumi. “I know _what_ you are. Me. Oikawa. Iwaizumi. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Me. Oikawa. Iwaizumi.”

At that moment, Sugawara moves to grab his broken staff, though Tsukishima doens't know how helpful a healign staff is without the crystal. The second his hand curls around it, Kuroo snaps. He moves to grab Sugawara, but Iwaizumi is faster this time, grabbing his arm and slamming it down.

“Calm down!” Iwaizumi shouts.

Kuroo tries to kick to turn and get leverage, but Azumane grabs his leg. Kuroo snarls, bucking wildly, frantically, and Sugawara orders, “Hold him down! He shouldn’t be moving like this, not with his injuries.”

Iwaizumi and Azumane tighten their holds. Tsukishima grabs his other leg, fighting against Kuroo as he tries to lift it and kick one of them. Sugawara grabs his remaining arm and pins it tight, needing to lean his entire weight against it, while Kenma pushes at one of his shoulders.  

“Gereste,” Kenma says in the language of mages. It is not a spell, just a word: Rest.

But Kuroo does not listen.

Kuroo lifts his head, looking around, and focuses in on Tsukishima.

“Were you the one talking?” Kuroo demands, wild eyes trained on Tsukishima. For a moment, he seems angry, then suddenly he seems desperate, unsure, clearly needing an answer to a question no one seems to understand. “It was you, wasn’t it? Whispering. _Plotting_. Trying to trick me! You can’t trick me again, you hear? I won’t let you. So get out. Get out. Get out, get out, get out, _get out_!”

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Tsukishima snaps, looking around to see if Kenma or Sugawara or anyone else has an answer.

“I don’t know,” Sugawara says, struggling to hold down Kuroo’s arm, muscles straining all the way up to his neck and jaw. “We need to put him to sleep.”

“Iwaizumi, grab his shoulder,” Kenma says and he moves to stand.

Swiftly, Iwaizumi shoves Kuroo’s arm flat to the floor and moves to sit on it with his knees, nearly pressing his whole weight to it, using his now free hands to press at Kuroo’s shoulder.

“No,” Kuroo hisses, teeth clenched shut. His entire back arches off the floor as he tries to fight them before slamming back down with such force Tsukishima can feel it down his own spine. “I won’t let you in again. I’ll kill myself before I let you in again!”

“Kuroo,” Iwaizumi says in a pained voice. “Calm down. It’s _us_.”

Kuroo thrashes, not listening to a word they’re saying.

Kenma grabs his staff from where he had tossed it and holds it over Kuroo’s chest before he casts the spell: “Swefe nu.”

“White,” Kuroo says suddenly, quietly, with reverence. He turns his head towards Kenma and his eyes go wide as his body goes soft. “Kenma…?”

Then he is asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful, amazing, ever supportive [possibledreamswriting](http://possibledreamswriting.tumblr.com/) for looking over this chapter for me. I’m super excited about her original WIPs and you should be too!


	18. Distortions

With Kuroo asleep and half the camp back in their tents, Iwaizumi sits around the fire with Sawamura, Sugawara, Michimiya, and Kenma. Their voices are hushed, the crackling of the wood louder than their whispered conversation.

Each day that passes is a day lost. There is a demon raging in Karasuno through Oikawa's body. They must return to Sendai so Ushijima can tell the emperor what the gods said.

But they cannot travel with Kuroo in this condition.

“We can’t just stay here and wait for him to get better,” Sawamura argues. “We have to get back to Sendai so Ushijima can tell the emperor what the gods said.”

“And what else is he going to tell the emperor?” Sugawara questions. “That I used magic to heal the enemy? That Tsukishima can use magic? That Kenma is the single strongest mage in the world? We’ll be executed before they even think to help Michimiya.”

“No harm will come to you,” Michimiya promises. “I will not allow Ushijima to divulge your magic abilities.”

“How?” Iwaizumi asks, meaning no offense, only bringing reality to her promise. “How can you keep that promise, Princess? Will you kill him to promise his silence?”

Michimiya hesitates and casts a glance to the tent where Ushijima and Azumane are asleep.

“If we kill him,” Iwaizumi goes on, “we’ll have to tell the empire their monk is dead. And they won’t fucking trust us when we say the gods want to help us. They’ll send another monk and we’ll be waiting around another month while your kingdom is destroyed by a demon.”

Michimiya meets his gaze and Iwaizumi knows in that instant she will not kill him. She is too good, too kind, maybe to a fault. If she had her way, no one would die in this war, but that is not what will happen. People will die, people she won’t know and people she calls friends. Still, she will fight to see that as few die as possible. She’s that kind of woman, that kind of person.

“Is there a spell you can use?” Sawamura asks, looking at Kenma. “Some memory spell?”

“You can either wipe a person’s memory completely or not at all,” Kenma explains. “It won’t help us.”

“Could we just talk to him?” Michimiya proposes. “Make him see reason?”

“He has been raised to believe people like me are evil,” Sugawara says, clearly unhappy with the idea.

“But he did hesitate when Kenma told him how mages use their power,” Sawamura points out.

All eyes turn to Kenma, who fidgets. Iwaizumi has known Kenma for nearly half his life and he knows the man hates this kind of attention.

“He hasn’t killed us yet,” Kenma says. “So that’s a good sign. But I don’t know what he’ll do when he’s in front of the emperor. If he’s anything like the knights of Aobajousai, he will be loyal to a fault.”

Iwaizumi does not argue with his point.

Silence falls over them.

“We need to talk to Ushijima,” Michimiya says.

She looks so much like Oikawa in the dark. Their stiff, trained posture. Their short, curled hair. That look in their eyes that says they will win no matter the obstacles.

Iwaizumi smiles to himself and tilts his head down in an attempt to hide it. He does not want to have to explain the gesture to anyone.

“Who do you want present?” Iwaizumi asks, lifting his head.

“Myself, Sir Iwaizumi, Sawamura, Kenma, and Kuroo.” She looks to Kenma. “How long does your sleeping spell last?”

“If cast during the night, until sunrise.”

“Then we talk to Ushijima at sunrise.”

 

* * *

 

Of course Tsukishima is the only one in the tent when the crazy man wakes up again because Hinata just _had_ to convince Kenma he needed some rest, leaving Tsukishima alone once more to watch this man sleep. Who cares if Tsukishima hasn’t slept all night babysitting this man?

At least he doesn’t wake screaming this time.

This time, Kuroo wakes up with a startled gasp, his body jerking then stilling as he pants rapidly, breath harsh with panic. There is a moment of silent stillness then Kuroo attempts to push himself up only to wince and lie back down.

He turns his head and sees Tsukishima.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice raspy from all that horrible screaming when he first woke up.

“Tsukishima.”

“I… I don’t know who that is, do I?”

Tsukishima snorts. “I would hope not.” He moves to stand, to go and get Kenma and Iwaizumi and whoever else wants or needs to see this man now that he is awake, but Kuroo’s hand shoots out and wraps loosely around his ankle.

Tsukishima looks down his nose at him.

“Don’t go,” Kuroo pleads, voice quiet, confused, scared, so many things that Tsukishima does not know how to react to. Tsukishima is never good with emotions, especially not in a stranger. “You’re a mage. I can tell. It never made up magic. If you’re here, then I know this is real. Wait, how can I know if it made up magic? Did it? I don’t know. It blurs. It all blurs.” He mutters the last half to himself like a true mad man.

Tsukishima shakes his hand off his ankle and sits down near him.

“Where am I, Tsuki?”

“Tsukishima.”

Kuroo grins. “Where am I, _Tsukishima_?”

Tsukishima adjusts his glasses, suddenly flustered and not sure why. He blames the exhaustion. “Northwest Shiratorizawa. We’re closer to the mountains than Sendai.”

“It’s not here,” Kuroo mutters. “It’s in Karasuno.”

“It?” Tsukishima questions.

“The speaker of tongues, the movement in the shadows, the blood from your wound.” Kuroo’s eyes go wide, staring at nothing and everything. “The Grand King.”

Tsukishima frowns.

“We’re safe here. No. Yes. _No._ Are we safe? Are we ever going to be safe again?”

This man is truly mad.

It’s then that Kenma walks into the tent, saying, “I was passing by and thought I heard voices. Is he…?”

“ _White_ ,” Kuroo says with meaning and awe.

Hadn’t he said that last night before the sleeping spell took hold?

Kuroo tries to sit up again, or attempts to, reaching out for Kenma with hands like a child grabbing for their mother. Kenma rushes to his side, kneeling on the ground, and Kuroo wraps him in a fierce hug. To Tsukishima’s surprise, Kenma hugs back, hesitantly at first then with the same fierceness. Kuroo’s face twists up in pain, his body probably aching and screaming, but he does not let go.

Tsukishima feels uncomfortable watching, like this is a private moment. He busies himself by picking at his sleeve.

“I missed you, Kenma,” Kuroo murmurs into Kenma’s neck.

“You’re okay now,” Kenma returns quietly.

“Then why do I feel like I was run over by a horse?”

Kenma pulls back from their embrace, though Kuroo seems hesitant to let go. Tsukishima wonders what their relationship truly was. Were they really friends? If they were more, Hinata is going to be very upset. Or, maybe, whatever Kuroo went through was so excruciatingly painful that he is desperate for a familiar face.

“The exorcism,” Kenma explains, leaving it at that.

Kuroo smiles slowly. “Of course, you would be the first to have the host survive. I was always telling you that you were the best, Kenma.”

Kenma rolls his eyes.

Kuroo lies back down, his body going limp with exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I should have seen it in King Oikawa. I should have—”

“It could have been any number of things. It could have been poison, an illness of the brain—no one would have thought it was demons until it was too late. The last recorded case of demonic possession was nearly two hundred years ago in Nohebi. I didn’t see it either, not even with all that I know.”

“Why didn’t you feel it?” Tsukishima accuses, arms crossed. “You can feel magic, can’t you? Why didn’t you feel something in your king?”

Kuroo looks up at him—eyes sunken, colorful bruises creeping up his neck, lips so cracked they bleed—and says, “Possession is a slow process. By the time the demon was strong enough for me to feel its presence, another demon was inside of me. I don’t know if you’ve ever been possessed, but it’s not fun. Things don’t make sense. Everything is distorted.”

“Even now?” Kenma asks, concerned. Kuroo hesitates then nods. “They want to talk to you,” Kenma goes on. “The others. Can you manage that?”

“Others?”

“Princess Michimiya and some mercenaries that have been helping her along with a monk from Shiratorizawa.”

“She’s safe? I didn’t hurt her?”

“No. I broke the spell you used to imprison her. She’s fine now. She wants to talk to you about what you know.” Kenma takes Kuroo’s hand in his and holds it in his lap. “We also need to convince Ushijima to keep our magic a secret. He’s a monk of Shiratorizawa.”

Kuroo scoffs. “Those monks are stubborn. They’ll never agree to that.”

“He hesitated when he heard me exorcise the demon. They speak to the gods in the same language we do, but no one tells them that. He doesn’t know who to trust. If we’re ever going to convince him, it’s now. We need your help.”

Kuroo hesitates then nods, just barely.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo cannot leave his tent, not in his condition according to Sugawara, so they gather there to meet. Iwaizumi steels himself all morning to look at Kuroo again and thinks he is prepared, but he isn’t. Iwaizumi does not know what to think of seeing his old friend lying covered in bandages and bruises from wounds caused by a demon. He may have more bruises than unmarked skin, and his eyes are not as sharp as they once were, and his face lacks it’s usual smile.

It hurts to see him like this. It hurts to think that if Oikawa survives, he will suffer like this. It hurts when he thinks maybe Oikawa will be better off dead.

All he knows is that he is glad Kuroo is with them now.

“It is nice to meet you as you once were,” Michimiya says to Kuroo.

He smiles ruefully. “I’m not as I once was. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

Michimiya returns his sorrowful smile as she sits near him, the others joining her on the ground since Kuroo can only sit propped up on pillows.

“What are we discussing?” Ushijima asks, straight to the point as always.

“You know members of our group use magic,” Sawamura says. “We want to know what you’re going to tell your emperor about them when we reach the capital.”

Ushijima looks to Kenma. “You claim mages are granted their powers from the gods, that they do not steal them.”

“I do not claim it,” Kenma replies with a gaze fiercer than he usually wears. “I know it.”

“How?” Ushijima presses.

“I know everything there is to know about the gods’ magic. I was born knowing it. I am the White Mage reborn.”

Ushijima stares at him, expression unsure.

“Ushijima?” Michimiya prompts after a moment.

“I could not in good conscience sentence you to death. Until I have made my peace and found answers that satisfy me, I promise you that no ill harm will come to you.” Ushijima bows his head. “I, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Mouth of the Gods, Monk of Shiratorizawa, swear this.”

Sawamura hesitates. “How can we trust you?”

“To the monks of Shiratorizawa, every promise they make, they make to the gods as well,” Michimiya explains. “I trust him. Please, lift your head, Ushijima.”

Ushijima lifts his head, his expression neutral. “Thank you, Princess Michimiya.”

“And me?” Kuroo asks. “Will you have me killed?”

“I do not know what the emperor will do, but I will vouch for you,” Ushijima says.

Kuroo manages to nod.

“Will others be coming for her?” Sawamura asks, looking towards the princess.

“No,” Kuroo says. “I was sent alone. He didn’t trust anyone else. He didn’t even trust me, but I was the strongest he had. I wasn’t meant to be by his side—there was meant to be another, someone, _something_ stronger. But it didn’t work. They went elsewhere. Like the others.”

“What are you talking about?” Sawamura asks.

“Me. Oikawa. Iwaizumi. That was what it planned on. They were waiting years for Oikawa to become king, hiding in the shadows and dark corners of this realm. But when the time came, it didn’t work. I don’t know why. It couldn’t—it couldn’t possess Iwaizumi. I don’t know why.”

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds heavy in his chest. He was meant to be possessed? If that is true, why wasn’t he? What was different between him and Oikawa, between him and Kuroo? And what does he mean by the others?

"Iwaizumi was meant to be possessed?" Sawmaura asks, clearly shocked. He turns to look at Iwaizumi, looking at him like he's a stranger, like he's someone that can't be trusted. Even after he was revealed to be a knight of Aoabjousai, he didn't look at him like that.

"I'm not a demon," Iwaizumi spits. 

"How can we be sure?" Ushijima asks practically.

"I'm not a fucking demon!" Iwaizumi says loudly. "Kuroo just said it couldn't possess me!"

"Would everyone please calm down?" Michimiya says. "I do not think Sir Iwaizumi is possessed. And if he is, Kenma has proven he is capable of solving the issue."

There is a moment of silence. Then, something cold settles in Iwaizumi's stomach.

“Wait. Are there others?” Iwaizumi asks. “Besides you and Oikawa? Other people that were possessed?”

Kuroo nods, his eyes so far gone it’s like he isn’t inside his own body. “I don’t know where. They often spoke to each other in a language I didn’t know. It wasn’t the language of the gods we use for magic. It was their language. It was dark. It made my mouth feel rotten and sick every time it spoke those words from my body. But wherever they are, they’re in ordinary people, not people of power like King Oikawa. I think they were meant to start rebellions as the war raged on to cause more chaos."

No one says anything for a moment.

More demons. More enemies to face.

“This changes nothing,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “We still need to exorcise the demon inside Oikawa if we want this war to end. We can worry about the rest of the demons after.”

“’Cleanse the heart of the king,’” Ushijima recalls. “’Or you shall all die.’”

“You are right, Sir Iwaizumi,” Michimiya agrees. “Our goal is the same. If we encounter others who are possessed along our journey, we will exorcise them. Until that moment comes, we must focus our strength on defeating King Oikawa.”

“He controls them all,” Kuroo says, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “He's the strongest. The Grand King.”

“Is that the name of the demon inside your king?” Ushijima asks.

“Yes.”

“Then we defeat the Grand King,” Sawamura says, like it’s as simple as that when it’s anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely dying to post the next chapter so I'll be updating again on Friday as long as my life allows me the few minutes it takes to upload an already written chapter.


	19. The Grand King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit M/M sexual content.

The capital and kingdom mourn for the loss of their king, but none more so than Oikawa.

Oikawa spends his days and nights praying to the gods at the sacred pond in the forest behind the castle. The only thing Iwaizumi can do is stand with his back to the trees, silently watching him. Some days, Oikawa’s nephew Takeru will join, but he does not have to adhere to the same rituals as the king-to-be and often leaves Oikawa to go inside and warm up.

The funeral is not rushed, but it is hurried along so the council can plan Oikawa’s coronation. He must be named king quickly so that they have a ruler, but centuries old traditions must be kept. While the funerary preparations are made, the king’s body is placed on ice to avoid rotting and preserve his form so that he may be able to live again when he reaches the land of the gods.

The king is buried at dusk five days after his death. His body is wrapped in the finest pelts from his hunts to keep him warm in the afterlife and iron chains to ensure the body does not float to the surface and return to the land of the living. Iwaizumi knows that in other lands, bodies are placed in the ground, but in Aobajousai where winter lasts nearly year-round, the ground is too cold to dig into. They bury their royalty in the frigid water of the sacred pond and burn the rest.

Only the royal family, the council, and noblemen are allowed to watch the funeral, but the people wait in masses outside the castle to show their support and grief. Iwaizumi dawns his full armor, as do the other knights, and Oikawa wears a pure white tunic, and together they watch as Kuroo cracks the ice of the sacred pond with a spell and sinks the late king into its depths to join his ancestors.

The morning of Oikawa’s coronation, Iwaizumi sits in Oikawa’s chambers and watches as the servants help him dress, sliding his arms through his tunic and his feet into his boots. Oikawa’s lips are still tinged blue from his night spent praying at the sacred pond behind the castle. He performed that task alone, telling Iwaizumi to fetch him at dawn, and Iwaizumi obeyed, leaving him alone in the forest. He is surely freezing, yet he does not shake in the slightest as he is dressed. He does not ask for his clothes to be warmed by the fire, or for a trip to the hot springs beneath the castle. He bears the cold alone.

He is dressed in a pale teal tunic dyed so light Iwaizumi does not know what is used to color the fabric. It fits him perfectly. It is held together by pure silver buttons in the front and is adorned with symmetrical intricate white patterns at the collar, the wrists, and the bottom edge. The only piece of armor is his pauldron, shined to gleam like silver in the light, and he only wears it so that the long, billowing snow-white cape behind him is secured.

It is not the outfit of a warrior, but of an aristocrat. Iwaizumi has only ever seen it when nobles visit the castle for feasts and talks. Even during the summer festivals, Oikawa wears his armor, though it is a far cry from a suit of armor. He wears the minimal pieces to be swift. He is an archer trained to fight on horseback and a one-handed swords master. He is quick and deadly, despite not being a knight. His lack of armor is made up for by Iwaizumi’s presence, for Iwaizumi is his armor and shield.

Most notably, Oikawa no longer wears the silver circlet denoting the crown prince. Iwaizumi cannot recall the last time Oikawa walked the halls without the headpiece. His head is bare so that he may don the crown.

Once he is dressed, the servants bow and shut the door to his chambers behind them, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi alone. Oikawa stands in the room, silent and stoic, the weight of the kingdom already on his shoulders.

He looks out the window at his kingdom, the people piling in around the castle as they eagerly await the news. After the crown is placed on his head, Oikawa will address the people, who will celebrate for days to come.

“My sword,” Oikawa says, not turning to look at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi picks up the sheath carrying Oikawa’s most treasured sword, presenting it flat, held aloft by both his hands. The sheath bares his greatest achievements. It is a work of art, much like the blade it contains. The artisan has requested that after the ceremony, he add in a scene depicting the coronation.

Oikawa takes the sheath and hooks the ring into his belt so it rests visibly at his side.

He looks every bit the king Iwaizumi dreamt he would.

He looks _magnificent._

Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to tell him this. He doesn’t know how to say that he is sure Oikawa will be a great king, that he will make his father proud.

So he walks silently by his side, where he has always been and always will be.

 

* * *

 

When they finally return to Sendai, they are met by their friends and comrades. Yachi throws herself at Michimiya then clings to Yamaguchi, only letting go for the briefest of moments to hug Tsukishima, Hinata, and Kageyama. Ukai walks stiffly, his ribs still sore, but he claps them on the shoulder and tells them they did a good job. That simple praise makes the mercenaries beam with pride.

But their return is not happy for long. Ushijima swiftly leads Kuroo away to the dungeons where he will be bound by chains and left alone. They can only hope Ushijima stays true to his word and Kuroo is not dead by sunrise. Iwaizumi is sure Kenma, Sugawara, and Tsukishima will not be sleeping tonight, even with Akaashi saying he will stay awake and watch over them.

The next day, Emperor Washijou arranges a meeting in a large room with a glass roof. The lines of the panes create intercrossing shadows shaped like four-sided diamonds on the pristine white floor. In the center of the room, there is a large rectangular marble table with white stone chairs. At the end is a throne made of raw gemstones. With jagged amethyst and raw quartz, the chair cannot be comfortable.

Iwaizumi walks through the door past two guards, followed by Sawamura and Michimiya. He is a few feet into his room when he hears the guards shift. The two guards have crossed their lances in front of the doorway, baring entrance to Sawamura.

“Only noblemen and the sacred monks are allowed to enter the Sun Room,” the guard says, not moving his lance.

“I’m with the princess,” Sawamura says, tilting his head towards Michimiya.

The guard repeats himself.

“But we want to hear what’s going to happen next!” Hinata says, frustrated, even stomping his foot on the ground and balling his hands into fists. By his side, Kageyama frowns and Kenma tilts his head down.

Sugawara comes up from behind Hinata and curls his arms around him, one circling his waist and the other near his head so he can smoother any further complains with his hand.

“We’ll be on our way, then,” Sugawara says pleasantly, but Iwaizumi knows from weeks of traveling with him that he actually sounds about as happy to be denied entrance as Hinata and Sawamura.

Ukai comes up from behind Sawamura and claps a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll tell you everything.”

Sawamura nods, clearly frustrated. He gives Michimiya one last glance, then turns and walks away. The other mercenaries follow. Michimiya watches him walk away, her expression unreadable, even to Iwaizumi, who thinks he knows her quite well by this point.

When they are gone, the guards lift their lances, allowing Michimiya and Ukai into the room.

“You know,” Iwaizumi says as they sit closet in the chairs to the throne of gems, “part of me knew you must be nobility because your grandfather was a knight, but I guess I never really thought about it.”

Ukai shrugs. “I don’t like all that status crap. My grandfather never did either.”

Michimiya and Ukai sit on one side of the table while Iwaizumi sits on the other.

Once they’re seated, Ukai looks at Michimiya and says, “You know how to stop that from happening.”

She nods. “I plan on changing things soon.”

“If you need help arranging anything, let me know.”

Iwaizumi isn’t completely sure what they’re talking about, but he has his suspicions. He has no arguments. It’s not really his place to argue even if he did disagree with her choice.

It’s a while longer until Emperor Washijou arrives with the rest of his court members and several monks, including Ushijima. Kuroo comes with them, his hands and feet bound by heavy iron chains. They drag and scrape against the marble, their weight clear, and Iwaizumi remembers his own shackles from his own imprisonment. Hopefully Kuroo’s chains do not rub him down to the bone like Iwaizumi’s had.

They fill in the rest of the table while Washijou sits on the gemstone throne. Kuroo is shoved into a seat next to Iwaizumi, who gives him a sparing look of pity. Kuroo shrugs a shoulder then adverts his eyes. He does not meet people’s eyes as easily as he once did. He doesn't even look like the man he once was.

Kuroo looks like death warmed over. His skin is sickly pale and the circles under his eyes are as dark as his greasy hair. Horrible, fresh red scratches cover his arms and there’s a few on his neck, too. He looks like a breeze may knock him over, or that he may collapse any second. Whatever magic Sugawara used held his body together by a thread, but seems to have done little for his mind.

After a brief prayer and other small formalities, there is silence.

Ukai lifts his hand awkwardly, clearly unsure how to know he may speak. “May Princess Michimiya have permission to speak freely while we are in this room?”

“She may,” the emperor says, not looking at her.

“Thank you, Emperor Washijou,” Princess Michimiya says with a slight bow of her head.

“Report on your pilgrimage, Ushijima,” Emperor Washijou orders dryly. “Then we will deal with this man.” He flicks his hand towards Kuroo. His tone and lack of interest make it seem like he has already made up his mind. It does not take a genius to know he plans to kill Kuroo sooner rather than later.

Ushijima speaks in the same monotone voice as always, no emotion on his face. “I was joined in my pilgrimage by several members of the Ukai Mercenaries and Sir Iwaizumi of Aobajousai. Together, we reached Heaven’s Peak and I successfully spoke with the gods. On our journey back to Sendai, we heard news that the Arc Mage of Aobajousai, Kuroo Tetsurou, had infiltrated the castle and kidnapped Princess Michimiya. We rode to stop him and retrieve the princess. We were successful.”

“What did the gods tell you?” a court member asks.

“‘Kill the demon. Cleanse the heart of the king. Or you shall all die.’”

“Demon?” another member of the court asks. “There’s no such thing. The gods banished demons from this mortal realm long ago. You must have heard wrong.”

“I know what I heard,” Ushijima says firmly. “And I know what I saw.”

“And what is it you _think_ you saw?”

“I saw such a creature with my own two eyes—a demon—as have the men who accompanied me on my pilgrimage. The creature possessed Kuroo, who sits before us. After a great battle to rescue Princess Michimiya from him, the demon was exorcised from his body.”

“Lies!” another court member declares. “Only the gods have the powers to exorcise demons. Even if a demon encroached on our world, you could not have harmed it.”

Ushijima nods in acknowledgement. “That is true. However, there are those to whom the gods can lend their power.”

“You speak of _mages_?” someone asks, gasping in horror.

“And healers, yes,” Ushijima confirms. “A powerful mage used the powers granted to him by the gods to purge the demon from our enemy and make him human once more.”

“Mages do not get lent power, they steal it! That is why the practice of magic and enchantment is a sin.”

“It is not stolen,” Ushijima insists. “Mages and healers speak the same sacred language I was taught to communicate with the gods. By speaking their tongue, the gods willingly grant mages and healers their powers. They do not steal them.”

“Blasphemous traitor!” a man shouts, standing and slamming his hands on the table. “Our great empire has dedicated itself to the gods. We punish those that go against their will.”

“That’s right! How dare you, a mere servant of the god, presume to know how the gods act? Their powers are stolen by those disgusting fiends and used for evil.”

“How dare you?” Ushijima replies, his expression flat. “Are you a god? You were not a monk. You do not even speak the sacred tongue. You have never so much as seen the gods as I have.”

“You impetuous _traitor_ —"

“Quiet,” Emperor Washijou says, his tone level and even. The man who had stood and slammed his hands returns to his seat, glaring daggers at Ushijima. The emperor goes on, “Tell us more about this supposed demon.”

“I know no more about that particularly demon,” Ushijima says. “However, I do know that King Oikawa of Aobajousai is also possessed.”

Emperor Washijou rests his chin in his palm, his arm propped up by his elbow on his throne. “Cleanse the heart of the king,” the emperor muses, eyes flicking towards Iwaizumi and Kuroo. “Is this true? Is your king possessed by a demon?”

Iwaizumi and Kuroo nod.

“They say only those that the gods have forsaken can be possessed by demons,” the emperor says lightly, like he is not implying something horrible.

Iwaizumi balls his hands into fists and shifts his jaw. It takes everything he has to hold himself back. He wants to scream. He wants to punch him. He wants to shout that he’s wrong. The gods would never forsake Oikawa, the one man that worshiped them with his heart and soul. However this demon came to possess Oikawa, it was not because the gods had forsaken him.

“How did this come to be?” the emperor says without pause, no emotion or care in his voice.

Iwaizumi does not want to talk about this, to recall Oikawa and his slow descent into madness. Oikawa fills his dreams as well as his nightmares these days.

Fortunately, Kuroo begins the tale.

“It was not instantaneous. It began days after his coronation. He was paranoid and would lose track of time.”

Those days were harder than the later days, in a way. Later, Iwaizumi knew Oikawa had lost his mind. In the early days, he didn’t what was happening, if this would end. There were hours, days even, when Oikawa was sane, when he didn’t flinch at his own shadow, or wake screaming that someone was coming for him.

Looking back, Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa knew the demon was encroaching on his mind.

“We thought the pressure of being king was affecting him. As I’m sure you know, his father passed suddenly. It was a shock to everyone, especially his son. We thought it would pass, but it didn’t. Iwaizumi and I eventually began to suspect that something else was wrong. However, before I could conclude my investigation, I too was possessed.”

Kuroo’s eyes go fuzzy, his gaze a million miles away, his pale skin almost translucent in this sun-lit room.

“Nothing made sense. I was there but I wasn’t. I spoke and called King Oikawa the Grand King. I don’t know why. It was out of my mouth before I could think and then I never stopped. The Grand King’s violence couldn’t be satisfied. We drew up battle plans to invade Karasuno and readied the army within a month. We talked about how we would use the heads of Karasuno’s royal family as decoration for his throne. We were both so happy at the idea of wearing the entrails of our enemies like precious jewelry.”

Several people grimace, including Iwaizumi. He remembers how Oikawa had laughed as Kuroo and he excitedly planned the path they would take into Karasuno, a path that would take out as many villages as possible.

“King Oikawa dreamed of a peaceful kingdom,” Iwaizumi swears. “He would never have done this if he wasn’t possessed. When he talked about invading Karasuno, I put a sword to his throat because I didn’t know how else to keep my oath. I didn’t know what else I could do.”

“You betrayed him to protect him,” Ukai summarizes.

Iwaizumi nods. “I was thrown in dungeon while Oikawa marched into Karasuno. Several of my most trusted men road back and freed me so that I could ride and stop him. But I was too late. I could only save Princess Michimiya before Miyagi was lost.”

Iwaizumi looks at Michimiya, who gives him a sad, sympathetic smile. He doesn’t know if he deserves it after all the pain his king has caused her.

“As long as he is possessed, he will not stop until he has destroyed this land,” Kuroo says. “The demon has no sympathy, no morals. All it cares for is blood and death. We must stop it.”

“‘Kill the demon,’” Ushijima says once more. “’Cleanse the heart of the king. Or you shall all die.’”

“This is no longer a problem unique to my kingdom,” Michimiya concludes. “All of humanity is at stake. We must exorcise the demon that possesses Oikawa Tooru and to accomplish this, we must use magic.”

“Our laws forbid—”

“Enough,” the emperor says, finally raising his voice, but just barely. “While I will never condone the use of magic, the gods have spoken. The Shiratorizawa Empire will cleanse this realm of evil as it always as. If Princess Michimiya seeks the same outcome, then I believe we can come to some sort of an agreement.”

Michimiya bows her head. “Thank you and the gods.”

“Those in your group that used magic to free the princess from the demon’s grasp are plagues on this land. However, given these trying circumstances, I’m sure the gods can overlook this. They will be given a single pardon. Should they use magic within our borders again, for whatever reason, they will be executed.”

“And what of this man?” a court member asks, gesturing to Kuroo. “Not only is he a lifelong mage, he infiltrated our palace to kidnap Princess Michimiya. He must burn for his crimes!”

“Perhaps,” the emperor says, eyes looking at Kuroo, who does not look back. “You said you were there but not. Does that mean something, or is it the ramblings of a man long gone mad?”

Kuroo looks down at his shackled hands. “I could see and feel, but I could not move my eyes or hands. It was in control while I watched from inside. When it took full control, my body was a cage.”

“Do you remember being possessed?” the emperor presses.

Kuroo’s face tightens. “Unfortunately, yes.”

The emperor hums. “And you have insights in the current state of Aobajousai’s military?” Kuroo nods. “You may prove useful. You may live for now. We will discuss strategy in the coming days.”

“I fear that I will be no help to you dead,” Kuroo says grimly. Even Iwaizumi startles.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” someone asks. “Are you threatening to kill yourself?”

Kuroo shakes his head. “I am not the man I was before. I am…” Kuroo frowns, trailing off, either struggling to find the words or not wanting to say them. He puts his shackled hands on the table, showing the claw-like marks on his arms from his own nails.

“He is a strong man,” Ushijima says to Iwaizumi’s surprise and clearly to Kuroo’s as well. “To my knowledge, he is the first to survive an exorcism. Therefore, no one is sure what effects that has on one’s psyche. Strong or not, isolation will put him and the knowledge he carries at an unnecessary risk.”

“We can’t trust him,” another says harshly, no sympathy.

The emperor studies Ushijima closely then looks away. “Unshackle him, for the time. If he causes us any harm, we will begin to kill his friends, beginning with Sir Iwaizumi here and moving on. I am certain he will behave under these conditions.”

“And after talks have been had?” Ukai asks. “What will you do with him then?”

“We will see,” the emperor says, standing. “This meeting is adjourned. I have other business to attend to.”

The room clears quickly until only Iwaizumi, Michimiya, Ukai, and Kuroo are left. The guards are kind enough to unshackle Kuroo before leaving them.

“We should tell the others,” Ukai says. “Let’s go together, Princess. I bet they’ll want to hear the good news from you. Kenma, Sugawara, and Tsukishima probably want to know they won’t be executed any time soon, too.”

She smiles, a mixture of emotions on her face. “Yes.”

The two leave together, leaving Iwaizumi and Kuroo.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I thought they would kill me after this meeting, so I’m doing great comparatively." After a moment of pause, Kuroo carefully says, “You must be hurting more than I am.”

“Why do you say that?” Iwaizumi asks, frowning in confusion.

“You loved him,” Kuroo states, like it is a known fact of the universe and not speculation on his part. “And he loved you. You can’t even bear to deny it, can you?”

Iwaizumi is quiet. He’s told himself that if anyone asks, he would deny it. He would have to to protect them both. Oikawa’s casual friendship with his knight was looked down upon by many, all except Oikawa’s late father, who had a similar relationship with Iwaizumi’s father.

But if word of a sexual relationship, or worse, a romantic relationship spread, Iwaizumi and Oikawa would have been separated. Iwaizumi may have been exiled. Oikawa may lose the respect he worked so hard for. They  _had_ to deny it.

Now, there is nothing left to protect and Iwaizumi does not have the heart to deny it any longer.

He does not know when he began to love Oikawa Tooru, but now it’s all that he can do.

Kuroo grins, a mix of victory and sadness. “I thought so.”

 

* * *

 

The celebration following Oikawa’s coronation is the largest and most elaborate Iwaizumi has ever seen. It is larger than the festivals in the summer, larger still than Oikawa’s coming of age party. The tables of food go on for leagues, the wine pours endlessly, and the entertainment is the best the kingdom has to offer. Everyone is laughing and drinking as the night goes on, the banquet hall filled with music and laughter.

Oikawa’s speech is a work of art and Iwaizumi knows he wrote it himself. He speaks of how he’s prayed for the gods to give him the strength and wisdom to lead and to make his people proud. He speaks of how he wants to bring peace to the realm so that children never know a day of war. He speaks of the future and how he will work with them to produce a world they are all proud to call home.

The council beams with pride at their new king and in that moment, everyone knows they don’t have to worry about Oikawa. He will surely be a better ruler than his father. He may just be the best king Aobajousai has ever seen.

Iwaizumi drinks with the Riders in the corner, toasting to Oikawa and eating until they are full and their throats are sore with laughter. Iwaizumi wants to be by Oikawa’s side, but he is too busy making pleasant conversation with members of the council and visiting noble families. He accepts many gifts, daggers and swords to gems and wine. He can’t turn down a single one and must accept them all gratefully.

Long after the sun has set, Oikawa stands from his throne and makes to leave, knowing the party will continue without him. They have long forgotten what they are celebrating. All they care about now is the wine.

Iwaizumi quietly leaves and follows him from the banquet hall. When they are alone in a stretch of hallway, Oikawa grasps his hand for a moment, just a few fleeting seconds, but it feels like an eternity. It always does.

“Are you coming to my chambers?” Oikawa asks, not looking at him.

“If you want me to.”

“Remove your armor and then join me.”

Oikawa releases his hand.

Iwaizumi cuts down a different hallway towards his own bedroom chamber. He sleeps in a hallway with rooms designated to the other appointed knights. His Riders are not knights, but they have rooms along this hall, though they must sleep two to a room. Their rooms are small but their own, free to decorate as they wish.

Iwaizumi’s room is his own, practical and bare, housing only his bed, armor, weapons, and clothes. He strips out of his armor with some difficulty, some of the clasps hard to reach by himself, but manages without calling a squire. Beneath his armor, he is soaked through with sweat. Aobajousai armor is meant to be worn in the cold, not in a warm banquet hall. He stores his armor carefully in the chest near the end of his bed and throws his sweat-soaked clothes towards the hamper for the servants to clean.

On his chest of drawers against the wall is a pitcher filled with water and a bowl. He pours the water into the bowl then rinses the sweat off his body with a damp cloth and scrubs the skin at his groin and ass. Clean, he puts on a new shirt and pants, and makes his way to the other side of the castle, sword in tow.

There are guards standing outside Oikawa’s door when Iwaizumi arrives. They never did that when he was just the prince, but now they will be there all hours of the day, even when Oikawa is somewhere else.

Everyone knocked when entering Oikawa’s chambers when he was a prince and the same is doubly true now that he is king. It is required. Iwaizumi is the exception, though it feels odd to break the rule when there are guards watching him, so he knocks.

“Enter,” Oikawa calls.

Iwaizumi walks inside and closes the door behind him. It’s likely the last time he’ll walk through these doors. Tomorrow morning, Oikawa will move into the king’s old chambers, a morbid tradition.

He’s surprised to see that Oikawa has taken off his pauldron and cape by himself. They sit forgotten on the floor next to his prized sword. On a table, on a plush pillow, sits the crown of the king of Aobajousai. 

“You took too long. I had to undress myself.”

“My apologies,” Iwaizumi says dryly and without meaning.

Out of habit from his days as a squire, Iwaizumi picks up Oikawa’s clothes to put them away properly, his back to Oikawa. He treats the sword carefully and leaves it out so that they remember to give it to the artisan. The sheath is decorated with the greatest scenes of Oikawa’s life. His coronation will be painstakingly added.

As he folds the cape, he hears Oikawa curse sharp and sudden. “Fuck!”

Iwaizumi almost startles but remains still.

There’s an immediate knock on the door. “Sire?” the guard from outside calls.

Iwaizumi looks over and sees Oikawa’s tunic half undone, the lower buttons still in place. His fingers had fumbled on the buttons. Oikawa’s hands tremble in fists at his sides and his teeth are bared in a snarl. He’s enraged. He’s morose. He’s anxious, terrified, and so much more. But he’s a king and he can’t let that show.

Iwaizumi walks over slowly under Oikawa’s watchful eyes. He stops in front of his king, never looking away from his eyes, his hands smoothing down his chest until he finds the column of silver buttons. Oikawa’s hands loosen at his sides, his shoulders dropping slightly as he relaxes under Iwaizumi’s touch.

“Sire?” the guard calls again. “Is everything okay? If you don’t respond, we are obligated to come in.”

“I’m fine,” Oikawa calls back, not looking away from Iwaizumi. His gaze holds so many more emotion than his fists did. There is comfort, trust, lust, and so much more that words cannot describe. “Sir Iwaizumi will be my guard for the night. You may leave.”

“If that is your command, Sire.”

Iwaizumi can hear the heavy sound of metal armor shifting as the two guards stationed outside his room walk away and disappear down the hall. That should not be allowed, even if it is the king’s order. If the king demands privacy, they should move to the next room over so the king’s door is always in sight. Iwaizumi will have a chat with the head of the Royal Guards tomorrow. That needs to be changed.

But for tonight, he will watch Oikawa.

He undoes the remaining buttons and slides the tunic off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Iwaizumi’s hands move lower still, his fingers gliding over the fluttering muscles of his bare stomach before tugging at the belt holding up his pants. He slides the belt out slowly and drops that as well.

“Sit.”

Surprisingly docile, Oikawa sits on the long chest that holds the spare blankets at the end of his bed. Iwaizumi removes his boots and socks, then has him stand again to remove his pants and undergarments.

Oikawa’s expression remains neutral but his cock is more interested, heavy but not fully hard between his legs. Iwaizumi is tempted to remain kneeling on the floor and suck him down to the root and feel him grow hard on his tongue, but he has other plans.

“Get on the bed,” Iwaizumi says as he rises to his feet.

“You can’t order your king around like this,” Oikawa says, though he clearly doesn’t mean it, his tone light and teasing. “I could have you thrown in the stocks for this, you know.”

“I’m requesting, not ordering.”

Oikawa hums. “It certainly sounded like an order.”

Yet he moves to the bed anyways, sitting near the pillows and watching as Iwaizumi strips. He tosses his shirt to the side along with his boots and pants, not putting on a show, moving mechanically to undress as quickly as possible. He rests his sword against the nightstand, ensuring it’s within reach, especially with the Royal Guard gone. He will never allow any harm to come to his king.

His king, he thinks. It’s such a strange thought. No longer his prince, but his king. The same person, but different.

Iwaizumi turns towards the bed and raises a leg to crawl on, but Oikawa says, “Stop. Let me look at you first.”

Iwaizumi stops as told and steps back from the bed, putting one hand on his waist and letting the other rest loose at his side. Oikawa’s eyes rake over his body, his gaze burning, leaving heat all over Iwaizumi’s body. While Oikawa looks at him, he looks at Oikawa.

Oikawa may not be a knight, but he is still a warrior. He has trained like a knight and more. His muscles are lithe but defined, especially in the arm he uses to draw his bow. That arm is larger than the other, his clothing specially tailored so it’s not noticeable when clothed. Naked, his body reflects his dedication and training. 

Oikawa reaches down and strokes himself as he hungrily eyes Iwaizumi’s cock. Iwaizumi’s naked body is a familiar sight to Oikawa, but every time he sees him naked, he looks at him like it’s the first time. He takes in Iwaizumi’s muscles and tan skin, his scars and imperfections.

Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa hardens in his own hand and aches to wrap his own hand around him, stroke him and feel his heated skin. Oikawa’s breath grows heavier and at the same time, Iwaizumi’s cock grows harder. It's been years now since he first saw Oikawa like this and he will never tire of the sight. He can already feel his skin under his hands, the taste of him on his tongue, body hot with anticipation of his familiar touch. 

Oikawa smiles, pleased with the way Iwaizumi’s body is reacting. “Join me,” he says suddenly, never looking away from him.

Slowly, with the intent to tease Oikawa and give him a taste of his own medicine, Iwaizumi crawls onto the bed. Oikawa's eyes track him the same way he tracks a creature in the forest. Then, on his hands and knees, Iwaizumi leans forward, gently kissing at Oikawa's pale throat, his lips dry as his tongue peaks out to taste the sweat on his skin. Oikawa’s head tips back and the softest sound falls from his mouth.

Oikawa sits up to meet him, to give back and return his touch, but Iwaizumi pushes at his chest. Oikawa falls back against the plush blankets and pillows of his bed, sinking into them. He stares wide-eyed as Iwaizumi straddles his thighs, steadying himself with a hand flat against Oikawa’s chest.

“You’re the king now, Tooru.” He trails his hand up Oikawa’s chest then back down, fingers inches away from his cock, flushed and hard against his stomach. “A king should be serviced.”

“You’ve never done this before.”

“You weren’t the king before.”

“I was still your prince!” Oikawa retorts with a wide smile. Like him being the prince had ever stopped Iwaizumi before.

“And now you are my  _king_.”

Oikawa hums, eyes moving over Iwaizumi’s body before settling on his cock, which rests half hard against his thigh. “Can I expect this treatment from now on, then? I think I like it.”

“Don’t get spoiled,” Iwaizumi tells him with a grin. “This is just for tonight so enjoy it.”

“I will.”

Iwaizumi leans down and licks slowly at his nipple, reaching up to rub the other with the pad of his thumb. Oikawa does not open his mouth when he moans, the sound deep and rumbling in his throat. He focuses on Oikawa beneath him and the small sounds he makes as Iwaizumi licks and rubs him. Iwaizumi could kiss his skin for minutes, hours, _days_ , until the world ends.

A hand cards through his hair and lifts his head away from Oikawa’s chest. "Kiss me," Oikawa demands, words hurried. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes closed as Oikawa leads him up into a gentle kiss, their lips moving more than their tongues. Oikawa moans against his lips, deepening the kiss. 

Oikawa’s arms wrap around him and Iwaizumi allows it, splaying his hands across Oikawa’s chest as he lies down on top of him, needing to touch him, needing to get as much skin against him as possible. It’s been weeks since they’ve been together like this but it feels longer. Every second away from him feels like a lifetime to Iwaizumi.

He feels Oikawa’s hips move beneath him, grinding his length up against Iwaizumi’s as best he can with so little leverage. The drag of skin on skin makes Iwaizumi’s cock ache for something more. His mind always goes to pieces when he realizes Oikawa wants him as much as he wants Oikawa. Part of him still can't believe Oikawa chose him. Out of all the people in the world, out of everyone he could have, he picked Iwaizumi. 

When Iwaizumi finally pulls back from the kiss, Oikawa is panting and his skin is flushed a rosy pink all the way down to his chest, skin bumping slightly on his arms. Iwaizumi can’t stop himself from kissing his jaw, his throat, and his chest until Oikawa’s hands thread into his hair and tug him back up for more. They kiss again and again, until their minds are numb from it. 

Iwaizumi breaks away eventually, another goal in his mind. He crawls towards the nightstand to fetch the vial of lubricant he knows Oikawa stows away in the drawer and returns to kneel between Oikawa’s legs, which open wide for him without shame or hesitation.

He takes off the top of the vial and tilts it, letting thick strands of clear liquid pour down and run along Oikawa’s cock. It smells like wildflowers and reminds Iwaizumi of all the times they’ve done this. He’s lost count. Their encounters are a blur of frenzied kisses and flush skin, of hidden moments where the rest of the world ceases to exist. Away from the castles, when traveling with only the Riders, there were slower nights in their tent, no need to hurry, no secret to keep. Tonight is a rare night in the castle, one where they can let their touches and kisses linger, though Iwaizumi thinks they will be far too desperate for that in a few moments.

Iwaizumi pours more lube than necessary then closes the vial, setting it aside so he can grasp Oikawa’s hard length. With that first touch, Oikawa inhales sharply and closes his eyes with a breathless, "Fuck, _Hajime_ ," as he tilts his head back into the pillows. His back arches just slightly, hips pulling away from the touch like it's too much before pressing up into it, craving more. Iwaizumi spreads the lubricant slowly and lets it soak into their skin, watching the way Oikawa shifts against the sheets and listening to how his breath goes from quiet to loud. Soon his panting turns to cursing and his feet slide restlessly across the fine fabric of his bed. 

“Do you want to come?” Iwaizumi asks, fist twisting slowly over the head of his cock again and again. 

“Not now,” Oikawa says, voice half a moan, his face scrunched up unpleasantly the way it does when he’s close. He looks at Iwaizumi with all the desire in the world, like Iwaizumi is the most perfect man he’s ever seen, and Iwaizumi can't stand the weight of that gaze. “I want to be inside you.”

“I figured that’s what you’d want.”

Iwaizumi releases him and Oikawa whines at the loss even though he asked for it. Iwaizumi leans over him on all fours and kisses him slowly to distract him from it. Quickly, Oikawa’s legs come up off the bed and wrap around his hips, strong thighs holding him still, wanting Iwaizumi’s lips on him as long as he can stand it. 

“Did you touch yourself in your room?” Oikawa asks breathlessly, searching his face and hoping to find the answer he wants, so eager, like his mind is already imaging the scene. “Is that why you took so long to get here?”

Iwaizumi gives him a flat look. “You really have no idea how hard it is to get out of full armor by yourself, do you?”

“Of course not. I have squires and servants to help me undress.  _You_ could have asked a squire, too, Sir Knight.”

“I could have.” Iwaizumi kisses his cheek, his jaw, down to his neck, lips dragging against his flushed skin as Oikawa arches and stretches beneath him like something out of a dirty fantasy. “But I like to do things myself.”

“Then let me see you prepare yourself,” Oikawa orders, his voice lower than before. “Get yourself ready to take my cock.”

“Yes, My King.”

Oikawa shivers beneath him, skin prickling with goosebumps. Iwaizumi's half tempted to laugh at him because of course Oikawa would like that of all things. 

Iwaizumi sits back on his heels between Oikawa’s legs and grabs the vial of slick. He thinks for a moment about what position to do this in. In the end, he turns around, his back to Oikawa, and slides his hands and knees under him. Iwaizumi should feel exposed in his position, but he doesn’t. He has seen Oikawa at his most vulnerable and Oikawa has seen Iwaizumi at his. This is familiar territory.

He coats one hand in slick and uses the other hold himself up as he reaches back behind himself and sinks his middle finger inside himself under Oikawa’s lustful gaze. He can feel his rim tug against his finger as he works it in and out, the friction a bit more than it should be. As if reading his mind, Oikawa sits between Iwaizumi’s legs and grabs Iwaizumi’s cheek and tugs, spreading him. Slowly, he pours more of the vial’s contents over Iwaizumi’s hole, uncaring of the excess that drips onto the sheets in waste.

“Another,” Oikawa says, his voice deep and breathy, and he sounds so damn hot like that that Iwaizumi has to resist the urge to tell Oikawa to fuck him now when he isn’t ready.

Oikawa’s hand remains on his cheek, spreading him so that he can see Iwaizumi’s hole up close. It’s his non-dominant hand, Iwaizumi notes as he slides a second finger inside along the first, enjoying the stretch it provides. Oikawa’s dominant hand is probably stroking his cock as he watches the sight in front of him. Iwaizumi moans at the thought.

He makes a show of stretching his fingers, trying to pry himself open further for Oikawa. He wants Oikawa to grab his hips and thrust inside him hard and fast until he paints his sheets white with cum. He wants the servants to know who was in their king’s bed and what they had been doing. He wants the whole castle to know, the whole world. He wants them all to know that Oikawa Tooru is his, that only he can make their precious king talk dirty and lose his mind to his most primal desires.

Iwaizumi twists his fingers in as deep as he can and spreads them as wide as he can. His jaw drops with a low, needy moan so unlike himself it always startles him, but it's so familiar at the same time. “Gods, just fuck me, Tooru.”

He hears a lewd squelch as Oikawa re-coats his cock with slick. Iwaizumi’s heart and cock throb with anticipation, knowing what comes next, having experienced it more times than he can count. The only thing that compares to being fucked by Oikawa is to be inside Oikawa.

Oikawa rises to his knees and presses his cock against Iwaizumi’s hole, rubbing and teasing him before pressing the thick, hot head of his cock inside of him. The stretch is familiar and so fucking _good_. It’s hotter, heavier, and he has no control over it like he did with his fingers, and the thought of Oikawa being in control of his pleasure makes him hotter than it should. His mind goes numb with it, his body fuzzy everywhere else, the only hard pressure he can feel from Oikawa inside him.  

Iwaizumi moans with every inch, his cock leaking between his thighs as Oikawa moves his body to his liking, hands tight at his hips, slowly working his full length inside him. By the time Oikawa is fully seated, Iwaizumi’s jaw drops in silence, no noise leaving his throat as his ass presses flush to Oikawa’s hips. He loves the wide stretch, the pressure and the heat of it all, but loves how Oikawa’s hands tighten on his hips even more, loves the way Oikawa moans behind him, just as far gone as he is. 

Instead of pulling his hips back and fucking into him, Oikawa stays buried deep inside him, leaning over Iwaizumi’s back to kiss between his shoulders. Iwaizumi can feel his stomach on his back when he exhales, no space between them. 

“Fuck, Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasps, his eyes falling shut. “You’re— _I_ —"

“Me too,” Oikawa murmurs affectionately against his skin. “Always, Hajime, always.”

Iwaizumi rocks back against him, trying to get him deeper. He needs more than a slow grind. He needs Oikawa thrusting into him until the air is knocked from his lungs. He needs Oikawa to fuck him fast and hard like he usually does, but the first drag of his hips back is slow and sweet.

When Oikawa finally does thrust forward, Iwaizumi moans loudly. He can feel every inch of his cock sinking it him at this slow speed, can feel his rim tugging when he pulls out just as slow. Oikawa’s arm is like an iron bar around Iwaizumi’s waist, holding him so close Iwaizumi can feel him everywhere, inside and out. 

He’s going to go insane like this, he thinks just seconds before Oikawa pulls away from his back to stand on his knees and grab his hips. Iwaizumi drops to his elbows, arching his back down and pressing his ass up into the air, no shame, only need. 

“You’re so eager,” Oikawa praises, voice sickly sweet with admiration. “Do you want to please your king that badly?”

He’s about to tell him to stop fucking around and _move_ when Oikawa starts to fuck him in earnest, both hands on his hips to tug Iwaizumi back against him as he pushes his cock forward.

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” Iwaizumi gasps, clawing at the sheets. “So fucking good, Tooru.”

He clenches down to make it good for him too and Oikawa moans loudly behind him, no need to hide his voice if there are no guards by the door.

Oikawa tries different angles, trying to find that spot inside of him, brushing it occasionally and then consistently. His orgasm builds, a tight pressure in his gut and a heat that spreads like wildfire. When Oikawa's cock brushes up against his prostate, his entire body shakes with it. He wonders if he could come like this, rubbing against the sheets without a hand on him, Oikawa hot and hard inside him.

But suddenly, Oikawa pulls out. Iwaizumi groans in annoyance as his impending orgasm ebbs, his fists tight in the sheets. When he looks over his shoulder to see what the hell Oikawa is doing, he sees his king lying against the mountain of pillows. He beckons Iwaizumi with his gaze and fingers, curling them like he’s calling a small animal.

Iwaizumi crawls over, hovering above him, leaning down only when Oikawa’s hand finds the back of his neck and guides him. Oikawa kisses him slow and deep until Iwaizumi feels shivers going down his spine in anticipation. If he flattens himself out over Oikawa, he could line up their cocks and rub against him until they come, but that’s not what either of them wants.

“Ride me,” Oikawa pants against his lips. “Show me how much you want me.”

Iwaizumi kneels on either side of Oikawa’s body and reaches behind them to grab Oikawa’s length, holding it steady. Oikawa’s hands rest gently on Iwaizumi’s thighs as he sinks down, head tossed back as he takes Oikawa inside him inch by inch.

"Fuck," Iwaizumi gasps. "You always feel so damn big like this." 

"I would apologize, but that doesn't sound like a complaint."

Iwaizumi starts to laugh, but the sound is cut off by a groan. 

Oikawa doesn’t rush him. He reaches down to grasp Iwaizumi’s cock and works the head with his fist. He strokes him slowly, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock slowly sinking into Iwaizumi’s body. Oikawa always enjoys watching himself enter Iwaizumi, no matter the position. Oikawa once told him that he only feels whole when he is inside Iwaizumi, or Iwaizumi is inside of him. (The only thing he truly hates about Oikawa is how he can say such disgustingly sweet things with a straight face.)

Now, with Oikawa seated deep inside him, he feels that wholeness and he feels so fucking _full_. He moans when he bottoms out completely, his ass flush to Oikawa’s hips. He eagerly rolls his hips back and forth, grinding Oikawa’s cock deep inside of him, seeing if he can rub his length against his prostate in this position. It feels so good with Oikawa’s hand on his cock that he could come like this, but he knows this movement isn’t what Oikawa wants from this position.

He grips Oikawa by the waist for balance as he lifts himself with trembling thighs and begins to fuck himself hard, waisting no time with slow and sweet. Oikawa groans every time he sinks back down, one hand squeezing Iwaizumi's thigh and the other his cock.

Iwaizumi shifts his weight forward and when he comes back down, Oikawa’s cock brushes that spot inside of him that makes his entire body feel like he’s on fire. It doesn’t take long to get back to the edge of his orgasm, his balls drawn up tight and sweat dripping from his skin. Iwaizumi speeds up, his jaw dropped shamelessly as he rides Oikawa’s cock hard and fast. Oikawa’s hand tightens on his cock, working him faster, like he knows Iwaizumi is close without being told.

“You feel so good,” Oikawa says, his voice very far gone, hair a mess and lips kissed slick. “Look even better. Gods, Hajime. Never let anyone else touch you. Only I can see you like this. You’re _mine_.”

Oikawa’s possessiveness usually comes out in moments of gentle intimacy, when they’re lying in the afterglow or tired in their tent from a long day’s ride, a soft whisper against warm skin— _I can’t believe you’re_ _mine_. Sometimes, it’s a show of power in front of the some of the younger knights and squires, a strong phrase— _he is mine_ —and Iwaizumi still has not fully decided if it’s to show others that Oikawa has power or if Iwaizumi has power, that belonging to Oikawa gives him power, makes him special in a way they never will be. But now, that possessiveness makes his body hotter than it’s ever been.

Oikawa throbs inside of him, thrusting up hard and true and Iwaizumi nearly chokes on the sound in his throat when he comes. He grinds back and forth with Oikawa buried to the hilt inside him, fucking his cock through Oikawa’s fist and working his length so damn deep that he's sure he'll feel it for days to come. He watches as he coats Oikawa’s stomach and fist with his cum, listening to the way Oikawa moans with him.  

When Iwaizumi has finally stopped coming, Oikawa grabs onto Iwaizumi’s hips and begins to move him again, stopping his back and forth movement to pull him up and down on his cock. He thrusts up as he brings Iwaizumi’s body down, seeming to reach deeper than he ever has, and Iwaizumi curls forward, his face buried in the pillows next to Oikawa’s head as he gasps with every thrust into his oversensitive body. 

Oikawa fucks up into him and moves Iwaizumi at the pace he wants, seeming to enjoy the wrecked sounds Iwaizumi can’t hold back. Everything feels heavier, deeper, his body on fire, coiling tight like he may just come again, though his cock is growing soft between their stomachs. He usually hates when Oikawa fucks him after he comes, too sensitive to the point of uncomfortableness, but he doesn't care tonight, welcoming it. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Oikawa tells him, not asking.

Iwaizumi groans in response, his skin burning and head dizzy. He doesn’t care either way—in him, on him, he just wants it. It’s never felt this good. It’s too much. It’s too much and it feels so fucking good that he never wants it to stop.

Oikawa comes with a harsh groan that Iwaizumi can feel in his bones. He fucks Iwaizumi as he comes and keeps tugging at Iwaizumi’s body, urging him up and down even as his cock throbs inside of him. Every time Iwaizumi thinks he’s done, he’ll drag Iwaizumi back onto his cock and push up, spilling just a little more inside of his body with another low moan.

When Oikawa finally stills, Iwaizumi lifts himself up and off of his length and falls onto his side next to him, his bones melting like ice in the sun. He’s exhausted and his body is still trembling, but as soon as he’s lying down, Oikawa pushes at Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi knows what he wants. He rolls onto his stomach, grabs a pillow, and hugs it against his chest as he shifts one leg up. Oikawa spreads his cheeks further with his hands, exposing him completely. In this position, he can feel Oikawa’s cum leaking out of his loose hole and dripping down his heated skin towards his balls.

“You look so good filled with my seed,” Oikawa says and somehow that proper term is hotter and filthier to him than any other word he could have chosen.  

Oikawa scoops his cum up with his fingers and presses it back inside of his body, his rim achingly sensitive. He repeats the process several times, his fingers reaching deeper each time, before he gives up with his fingers entirely. He leans down and licks at him with long, flat strokes of his tongue that have Iwaizumi clawing at the sheets and trying to twist away.

Oikawa puts a hand on his hip and stills him. “Let me eat you. That’s the phrase, isn’t it? Eating pussy.”

“That’s not pussy,” Iwaizumi mutters.

Oikawa laughs. “No, it’s not. I don’t think I’d like pussy after being inside of you. Your body is meant to take me, as mine is meant to take you.”

Iwaizumi flushes red. How the hell can Oikawa say things like that with a level voice?

Oikawa spreads him open and licks him until his skin feels raw. It feels so good, sending little jolts of pleasure up his spin. He loves Oikawa’s hands on him, spreading him, and his mouth that burns hotter than Oikawa’s seed leaking out of him. Oikawa moans against his skin, seeming to find satisfaction in doing this somehow.

“I can’t,” Iwaizumi says before he finally twists away and rolls onto his back. “Enough. Stop.”

Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind, crawling over Iwaizumi’s body to kiss him. He can taste Oikawa's cum on his tongue and he groans, fisting roughly at his hair to hold him there, kissing him deep and chasing the taste of him.

When Oikawa has had enough, he lies down on top of Iwaizumi, their entire bodies lined up. He can feel Oikawa’s chest rise and fall against him, proof that he is alive, that he is here with him. Oikawa kisses his jaw slowly before resting his head against Iwaizumi’s chest.

“We’re not sleeping like this, are we?” Iwaizumi asks in disbelief.

“We are,” Oikawa confirms.

“We’ll freeze even with the fire. At least pull up the blankets.”

Oikawa covers his mouth with his hand. “Your king demands silence.”

“We’ll freeze,” Iwaizumi repeats, his words muffled by Oikawa’s hand. He finally licks his palm in a childish attempt to get him to move, but the hand remains cupped over his lips.

“Please, hold me, just for a moment,” Oikawa pleads quietly as he closes his eyes. “Let me pretend this is all there is.”

Iwaizumi sighs. He wraps his arms around Oikawa, who moves his hand and curls up on top of him, the world forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I don't know when I started loving you_  
>  _Now it's all that I can I do”_  
>     
>  _Heaven is a Place — Amber Run_  
>     
>    
> There’s a lot I have to say about this chapter. I’ll make a little list:  
> \-- When I tag explicit sexual content, I mean explicit sexual content.  
> \-- There are a couple of love stories developing in this story, but Iwaizumi/Oikawa is not one of them. They are a love story that has already happened.  
> \-- I really hope it was obvious how much Iwaizumi loves Oikawa before this point. If not, I hope it makes you rethink a lot of the story so far and how much Iwaizumi is hurting.  
> \-- This sex scene is one of the first scenes I wrote. I’ve gone back and edited it slightly but it never really changed.  
> \-- Oikawa called Iwaizumi “Sir Knight” which is meant to be a teasing nickname. “Iwa-chan” just didn’t feel right in this sort of universe so I went with “Sir Knight.” I don’t use it all that often but it pops up a few more times in flashbacks.


	20. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like in "Remnants," there are some darker/heavier themes including mentions of child executions, dehumanization of prisoners, someone falling out of touch with reality, and a few uncomfortable implications of dub/non-con that never actually take place.
> 
> Also, this chapter contains some explicit M/M sexual content.

A few days after Oikawa’s coronation, it occurs to Iwaizumi that he never gave Oikawa a gift. What the hell did you even give a king? There was the night of his coronation where he gave himself freely to Oikawa, but he had done that plenty of times before. Was it a gift fit for a king? How arrogant did he have to be to think his body was enough?

When Oikawa came of age, he gave him his father’s dagger. Unfortunately, Iwaizumi doesn’t have any more family heirlooms lying around. People from all over the world had sent Oikawa the best wines, the best silks, the best gems, the best of everything life had to offer. What else could a king desire?

He knows it doesn’t have to be expensive; Oikawa also appreciates practical gifts. The Riders had pooled together some of their money and bought an ivory thumb ring for Oikawa to use with his bow. Oikawa had received many other thumb rings the night of his coronation, but he had positively beamed when he received the ring from the Riders despite it being a simple thing with no carvings or ornamentation. Iwaizumi wishes he had thought of that. All he had thought about was letting Oikawa fuck him. In his defense, he had never been very good with gifts.

Maybe he can win Oikawa a prize on the next hunt and have it made into a pelt. It would have to be quite the prize. A wolf, maybe. Oikawa would appreciate the skill it took to take down a wolf. But they were harder to find around Seijoh, hunted from the forests to protect the people. He would have to take a trip, a trip he doesn’t want to take if it means leaving Oikawa’s side.

He is deep in thought as he returns from morning practice with the knights. When he sees two members of the Royal Guard approaching him from the other end of the corridor, he does not think they are for him, until he meets their eyes.

“Sir Iwaizumi,” one of the Royal Guards greets, voice uneasy. “We were looking for you.”

Only one thought comes to mind: “What’s wrong with Oikawa?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” the other guard says hesitantly. “It’s just that he’s refusing to let one of the servants into his room and is calling for you.”

Iwaizumi frowns and begins to make his way to the king’s chambers before the guards can explain any further. When they reach his room, Iwaizumi sees one of the servants waiting with a plate of food and a pitcher.

“He won’t let you in?” Iwaizumi asks. The young woman nods. Iwaizumi recalls Oikawa’s schedule, something he has begun to memorize the night before so that he always knows where Oikawa is when he is not by his side. “Are you sure he’s inside? One of his horses gave birth yesterday morning. He should be seeing the new the foal so he can name it.”

“He hasn’t left his room,” the servant explains, distraught. “This is his breakfast. He refuses to let me in and serve it. It’s cold now…” She frowns, clearly disappointed.

Oikawa should have eaten nearly forty minutes ago.

Iwaizumi knocks on the door and hears Oikawa say, “For the last time, I don’t know who you are! Bring Sir Iwaizumi here at once.”

“It’s me,” Iwaizumi replies. “Open up.”

There’s movement on the other side of the door—a barricade being removed, perhaps—then Oikawa cracks the door an inch. Iwaizumi can see his sword at his side. Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow at him in silent question. Oikawa’s eyes shift to the servant standing behind Iwaizumi.

“I didn’t recognize her voice,” Oikawa explains, eyes back on Iwaizumi, “and I didn’t want to answer the door for someone I didn’t recognize. My great-grandfather was killed two weeks after becoming king, you know.”

He did not know that.

“And the Royal Guard,” Oikawa says, not going on.

 _I don’t trust the Royal Guard_ , Oikawa had told him nearly seven years ago, months before the Riders were formed. Iwaizumi remembers that conversation word for word.

“I recognize her,” Iwaizumi says honestly. “She’s always in the kitchens whenever you send me to get you more food. She’s been here at least five months.”

“I’m one of the new chefs,” she says quietly, bowing her head. “I prepared this meal and wanted to bring it to you myself, Sire. It’s the first time I’ve been trusted to prepare your food.”

Oikawa opens the door further. “Come in.”

“It’s cold now. If you’d allow me to fix you a fresh plate, Sire—”

Oikawa shakes his head. “I’ve caused you enough trouble and for that, I apologize. I appreciate that you came to me yourself. I will gladly eat your meal. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

She hurries inside.

Before Oikawa can close the door, Iwaizumi fixes him a look. “Is this going to be an issue?”

“No.” He smiles. “Forgive me?”

Iwaizumi huffs. “Hurry up. You have a full schedule today including teaching archery to the squires. They’re so excited it’s almost annoying.”

Oikawa nods and closes the door to eat his meal, leaving Iwaizumi alone with a sense of dread that he can’t quite place.

 

* * *

 

The incident passes. No servants are bared entry from his room, at least not that Iwaizumi knows of. Oikawa's first weeks of being king are busier than either of them expected, but Oikawa handles the challenge with poise, grace, and wisdom beyond his years. Iwaizumi does not know if he was a born ruler, or if he became one over time, or if it was some combination. 

While Oikawa is busy, so is Iwaizumi. He is going through an inventory list for the armory at Oikawa's request when someone taps him on the shoulder. Iwaizumi makes a noise and turns, not feeling a threat, and sees a young boy with freckles in his early teens. Iwaizumi recognizes him as one the servants that brings food to Oikawa. He has been since before he was king.  

“Sir Iwaizumi, My Lord, um,” the boy says nervously.

“Relax,” Iwaizumi says kindly, fighting the urge to laugh. He does not want to seem cruel. “I’m not the type to get upset over missed formalities. I actually prefer if you don’t address me formally, to be honest.”

“None of the servants know how to handle this, Sir Iwaizumi,” the boy sputters. “The king isn’t eating. He returns his plates to the kitchens and the food isn’t even touched.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “When did this start?”

“Three days ago.”

“He hasn’t eaten for three days?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Who else knows this?”

“Just—just the servants that bring him food and the ladies in the kitchens. The plates are covered when they enter and leave his room so the Royal Guard doesn’t see. The kitchen ladies are really worried since he usually eats a lot.”

“Keep it to yourselves,” Iwaizumi orders. “And thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll take care of it.”

Iwaizumi leaves, walking fast but not running, and goes through Oikawa’s schedule in his mind. Right now, he should be with the castle merchant about a shipment of arrows from the fletcher. They would be meeting in the banquet hall but finds no trace of either man. So he changes course for Oikawa's room.

“Is he in there?” Iwaizumi asks the Royal Guards stationed outside the doors.

They nod and Iwaizumi walks in without knocking, spotting Oikawa sitting on the windowsill, restringing his bow. He startles when Iwaizumi enters without knocking, but quickly relaxes, refocusing on his bow.

He does not look like he is starving, but three days will not do much. Has he been sluggish, irritable from hunger? Iwaizumi can’t remember and hates himself for it. He should notice these things. He should not have to rely on a servant to tell him. He feels like he is already failing his king.

When the door closes behind him, Iwaizumi asks, “Have you been eating?”

“No,” Oikawa answers without hesitation.

“Why the hell not?”

Oikawa’s hands still. “I don’t trust the food they bring me.”

“It’s the same food they always bring you, isn’t it? There’re no new servants under your care, no new kitchen staff, and no new utensils or goblets. There’s no reason—”

“I am the king!” Oikawa exclaims, standing. “That is _every_ reason! I can’t trust them. I can’t trust anyone. I can feel them watching me wherever I go. I can feel it, Hajime. Their eyes are everywhere. Even now. Can’t you feel it?”

With large strides, Iwaizumi closes the distance between them, cupping Oikawa’s jaw in his hands. Oikawa’s hands rise and wrap around his wrists, the position familiar and comfortable to them both.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “You need to eat. Order the servants to taste your food in front of you if you have to, but you must eat. You need to be strong for your people.”

Oikawa’s eyes gaze into his and then, he nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“I know you didn’t plan to become king so soon. I know this is stressful. But I'm here for you and so are the Riders and your people. Gods, Tooru, the people love you. They always have.”

“Not as much as you love me,” Oikawa says, a small smile on his lips.

Iwaizumi’s smile is much wider. Oikawa leans forward, catching Iwaizumi’s lips in a chaste, dry kiss that sends shivers down his spine. Such an innocent kiss, brief and unmoving, a mere press of the lips, and Iwaizumi feels like melting.

“Join me for dinner tonight?” Oikawa requests. “Here, in my chambers. Tell the servants to bring as much food and wine as they can and we’ll feast.”

“That sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

A month after the coronation, Iwaizumi sees a pair of guards manhandling an older servant, a forgotten basket of linens on the floor, fabric tumbling out. Iwaizumi approaches, shocked when he sees Oikawa standing nearby with eyes that don’t fit the memory Iwaizumi has of Oikawa in his head.

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi asks. “Did they do something?”

“I found her going through my chambers,” Oikawa reports.

“I was just changing the sheets, Your Grace!” the servant pleads, her voice broken.

“This is a sick joke,” Iwaizumi says. “Release her.”

The guards do not. Iwaizumi’s jaw shifts. They can’t release her, not if Oikawa’s the one that gave them the order.

“Who knows what she was doing to my room,” Oikawa says to Iwaizumi, an edge to his voice. “She could be a spy, or an assassin for all we know. She must be the one that's been watching me."

“For all we—? I recognize her!” Iwaizumi replies, gesturing towards the woman, who is on the edge of tears. “She’s been changing your bed sheets since you were a child. If she wanted to hurt you, she would have done it when you had missing teeth." 

Oikawa narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to trick me?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Iwaizumi snaps.

Oikawa falters, considering this. “I… I don’t know.”

“Don’t you recognize her?” Iwaizumi asks in disbelief, almost afraid of the answer.

Oikawa looks at the woman like she’s a stranger. Then, his brows pinch together and his lips open slightly in a silent _oh_ as her face clicks in his brain.

“Release her,” Iwaizumi repeats, glaring at the guards.

They look nervously to their king, who nods. When they released her, Iwaizumi comes forward as she falls to her knees, rubbing at her arms where they had grabbed her. Iwaizumi helps her to her feet and doesn’t look at Oikawa, though he can feel the weight of his gaze on him, watching his every move.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo and the council physician prescribe Oikawa a day’s rest in bed when they hear of the incident, which is quickly and quietly swept under the rug. The servant is paid well, well enough to retire, though she does not seem happy to. She has served Oikawa his entire life, has dedicated herself to the royal family in a way she finds noble and respectful and they have to take that away from her for her own safety.

But the way Oikawa had acted during the whole scenario worries Iwaizumi, lingering on his mind. During practice with the Riders, when Oikawa is absent, Iwaizumi asks, “Have any of you noticed something off about Oikawa?”

"He's busy," Kindaichi says. "I don't see him as much."

“Why?” Hanamaki asks.

“Because he’s being weird since he turned king,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s like he doesn’t trust anyone. I mean, he trusts us, but not many others. Maybe Kuroo and some of the councilmen. He says he thinks someone is watching him."

"Is it because he has the Royal Guard following him now?" Kindaichi suggests. "They're actually watching him, right?"

“Or is he worried about assassins?” Matsukawa asks. “He told me his great-grandfather or something was killed by one after becoming king.”

Iwaizumi thinks back to when they were young, when magical assassins raided the castle and Iwaizumi found Oikawa pinning the young child assassin sent to kill him to his bed. Oikawa scolded Iwaizumi for being late and handled the situation himself. Oikawa has never feared assassins. He has faced them head on, as he does every challenge. 

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi says, rubbing hard at his face. “Maybe I’m just imagining things, or over thinking things.”

“You have been tense since you learned he was going to be king,” Matsukawa points out. “Maybe the both of you just need to fuck each other’s brains out and relax. Seriously, when’s the last time you two got at each other’s dicks?”

Kunimi rolls his eyes.

“That is none of your business,” Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms while thinking of his coronation night.

“A while, then,” Hanamaki surmises.

Maybe this is just stress, he thinks. A transition period. Maybe this is something that will pass.

 

* * *

 

He’s still thinking about his conversation with the Riders when he’s with Oikawa.

Iwaizumi has Oikawa beneath him on his bed, the king naked expect his tight riding pants. He has Oikawa’s paler skin under his fingertips and his lips on his throat. He can taste the sweat of the day on him and feel the arch of his neck as he bares his throat to him in invitation. Yet all he can think about is that conversation.

Oikawa’s hands card into his hair and tug him back up to look at his face. Oikawa says, “Stop thinking. You should only be thinking about me,” in a husky, low voice that has Iwaizumi’s cock throbbing in his pants.

Iwaizumi kisses him messily, mouths too open and tongues too eager, and all he thinks about is Oikawa.

He thinks about how Oikawa’s legs come up to wrap around his waist, strong, powerful thighs gripping him close. He thinks about how Oikawa moans when he moves down to his throat again, sucking and licking whatever skin he knows collars will cover. He thinks about how Oikawa’s hips make these desperate little circles so he can get some sort of friction against his clothed cock. He thinks about how many people would kill to touch Oikawa like this and how he is the only one that ever has.

“Only you,” Iwaizumi replies, voice rough. “I only ever think about you, My King.”

Oikawa stumbles, hands stalling and legs falling from Iwaizumi’s hips. Iwaizumi feels him get a little tense and he stops, pulling back, bracing himself with hands on either side of Oikawa’s head to look down at him and see what's wrong. 

Oikawa smiles at him, though he seems slightly confused. “Is that some kind of game you want to play?” He runs his hands up and down Iwaizumi’s back, fingers catching on his loose tunic like he wants to pry it off.

Iwaizumi blinks at him. “Game?”

Oikawa laughs quietly. “My King?” he questions, teasing, like Iwaizumi is stupid for not getting what he’s talking about. He's grinning now. “Do you just want me to give you orders? You _could_ just call me ‘My Prince’ like you’re supposed to. I’ll gladly order you to suck my cock if you call me that. I’ll gladly suck _your_ cock if you call me that.”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says slowly, carefully, like he is walking on thin ice, “you are the king.”

Oikawa scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Look where we are.” Iwaizumi pulls back completely, sitting back on his heels between Oikawa’s legs, and Oikawa props himself up on his elbows.

Oikawa looks around, his expression changing as he takes in the room.

“This—” He sits up, rising to his knees, and gently pushes Iwaizumi aside to get a better look at the space behind him. He crawls on the bed, looking around, wide-eyed. “This is my father’s room. Why are we fucking on my _father’s bed_?”

“It’s your bed now,” Iwaizumi reminds him, his gut heavy and cold. “Your father passed away nearly two months ago. You’re the king, Tooru.”

“I’m not—” Oikawa stops suddenly and sits down, rubbing hard at his face with both hands. He laughs hollowly, no feeling behind it. “Of course. You’re right. I’m the king. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Iwaizumi sits there, not sure what to do.

After a moment, he crawls forward and moves Oikawa’s hands away from his face, gently rubbing at the skin under his eyes with his thumbs, Oikawa’s face cupped in his palms. Oikawa’s eyes shift, but they eventually rise to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze.

“Are you sleeping alright?”

“Nightmares,” Oikawa admits quietly. His hands come up and wrap gently around Iwaizumi’s wrists. “Horrible, gory things. Last night, I dreamt I cut open my own stomach, pulled out my intestines, and put them around my throat like a piece of jewelry. I can still feel them on my neck, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi frowns. His hands slip just slightly, cupping Oikawa by the jaw now. “I could ask the council physician to make you a sleeping tonic of some sort, or ask Kuroo for a charm. I’m sure he knows something to help with bad dreams.”

Oikawa shakes his head. Smoothly, he turns his head, his lips pressing into one of Iwaizumi’s palms. “Let’s continue,” he murmurs, lips dragging against his skin.  

Iwaizumi slowly pulls his hands back into his lap. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now.”

Oikawa crawls into Iwaizumi’s lap with a slow, sensual grace, wrapping his arms around his neck and settling down on his lap, thighs splayed wide across his hips. Without thinking, Iwaizumi’s arms wrap around his waist in return.

Oikawa leans forward in that position, his breath ghosting against Iwaizumi’s lips. His voice is a whisper when he slowly says, “I want this. I _need_ this. I need you inside of me, Hajime. Fuck me? Please? Make me forget all these horrible things.”

He considers saying no for the briefest of moments. Then, he grabs Oikawa by the hips and flips him onto his back. Oikawa smiles beneath him, neck stretching to meet Iwaizumi when he leans down to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

Two months after the coronation, Iwaizumi is awoken in the middle of the night by pounding at his door. He wakes quickly, knowing that can often be the difference between life and death for a knight, and grabs his sword before answering the door.

There’s a Royal Guard in full armor panting, like he had just run here. “The king—”

And Iwaizumi does not even wait to hear the rest. “Where?” he demands.

“His chambers.”

He runs barefoot through the familiar corridors just behind the guard, sword in hand.

Why would they need him in the middle of the night? The warning bells were not sounded so it’s not an intruder. Has Oikawa finally crossed the line? What line would he need to cross for the Royal Guard, the ones sworn to protect the king to death, to report to Iwaizumi?

They reach Oikawa’s chambers quickly. There’s another guard standing hesitantly outside of the large wooden doors, trying to talk to Oikawa through the wood.

“Every time we try to go in, he throws something at us,” the guard standing there says.

“You’re in full armor for gods’ sake,” Iwaizumi replies sharply.

“He won’t listen to us,” the other guard says, equal parts exasperated and exhausted.

Iwaizumi reaches for the ringed handle and can hear Oikawa shouting wildly from the other side. There are no words to his shouting, just his voice, raw and horrified, followed by the clash of glass shattering against stone walls.

“Stay out here unless I call for you,” Iwaizumi orders the guards. They nod.

Iwaizumi swings the door open, unafraid of whatever Oikawa is going to throw at him, literally or figuratively.

Stepping inside, his bare feet are immediately cut by shards of glass. Every mirror has been smashed, every vase shattered. The mess is everywhere, covering nearly every inch of the floor, tiny specs of glass and mirror scattered throughout the room, flowers thrown from their vases. And there, kneeling on the rugs, clutching a shard of glass in both hands and wearing nothing but his night clothes, is Oikawa.

Iwaizumi drops his sword, suddenly numb. Something is wrong. Something has been wrong for days, weeks, but it’s never been something he can see. Now that it’s spread out in front of him, he doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, what to think besides why? What? How?

Is this his fault?

He quickly crosses the room covered in broken glass and shards of mirror, wincing with every cut, and kneels next to his king as the door swings shut behind him. He tries to grab Oikawa’s hands to pry the glass shard away before he can hurt himself, but Oikawa squeezes it tightly and protectively to his chest, bright red blood dripping down his palm to his wrist, hands sliced open.

The look on Oikawa’s face is frenzied. He sits with his jaw clamped shut and teeth bared, breathing harshly through his mouth and snarling like some kind of animal as a result. His eyes stare ahead of him almost at something else, something that Iwaizumi cannot see when he follows his gaze.

Realizing he isn’t getting that glass shard away by brute force, Iwaizumi slowly draws his hands back.

“Tooru, what the hell happened?” Iwaizumi asks as calm as he can manage while his heart beats wildly in his chest.

Oikawa’s body relaxes, jaw dropping slightly and eyes softening, but his hands remain tight around that shard of glass.

“I looked in the mirror,” Oikawa says quietly, his voice trembling like his hands, his eyes staring straight ahead, “and my eyes were black. Everywhere I looked, they were black.”

He looks at Iwaizumi with an expression he has never seen him wear before, his eyes perfectly normal, not a speck of black except at the pupil.

Oikawa does not say anything, just looks at Iwaizumi, then looks down at the glass shard in his hands like it a strange, foreign thing, like he did not realize he was holding it.

“They were black,” Oikawa repeats, insistent, voice so very quiet.

Then, Oikawa jerks his arms up.

Iwaizumi moves before he realizes what Oikawa is trying to do. He tackles Oikawa, pressing him down against the floor, his arms trapped by his weight. It’s when Oikawa lands on his side, his head hitting the ground hard, that he realizes Oikawa meant to stab his own eyes. Iwaizumi doesn’t move, unsure if Oikawa will just try again if given the chance.

He breathes rugged and harsh, pure panic washing over him. What the fuck was going through Oikawa’s head that he almost blinded himself because he thought his eyes were black? Why would he even think that? Had the shadows caught his face just right? Or was it something is? What else could it be?

What the fuck was Iwaizumi supposed to do in a situation like this?

His mind races as fast as his heart. He has never been more afraid in his life. Not when he faced an infamous bandit one-on-one at the age of fifteen during his first quest as a knight. Not when he was sitting in that snowed-in cave wondering if he was going to die because of the infection in his arm. Not when that servant almost caught them fucking in the stables in the dead of night and he thought, What if they separate us and I never see him again?

This, now, is the most terrifying moment of his life.

Finally, Oikawa releases the shard of glass, his hands trembling and bloody. His skin is cut all over, oozing blood down to his wrists.

“You can’t just—I don’t— _fuck_. Don’t scare me like that, Tooru! Why the hell would you even think to do that?”

“I thought I saw—I thought—" Oikawa wiggles under him, but cannot escape his weight. He sags, body limp like a doll. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought, Hajime. What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re okay,” Iwaizumi says gently, wrapping his arms around Oikawa as best he can. He sits them up, holding Oikawa against his chest. Oikawa buries his face into his neck as Iwaizumi rocks them back and forth. “You’re okay. Whatever you did or didn’t see doesn’t matter now. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Oikawa’s arms wrap around him just as tight, holding Iwaizumi there as much as Iwaizumi is holding him. Iwaizumi presses his face into Oikawa’s hair and breathes his familiar scent.

The why does not matter now. All that matters is making sure Oikawa is safe.

Soon his breathing calms, and so does Oikawa’s, and their bodies relax, like just touching one another is enough to calm them both down. Their bodies know they are in no danger like this, not when they are holding one another. Together, they will always feel safe.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Iwaizumi says eventually, adjusting his grip so he can easily scoop Oikawa into his arms when he stands.

Oikawa moves, docile, and allows himself to be lifted. Iwaizumi carries him across the room of broken glass, not letting out a sound, not wanting Oikawa to know he is hurting because of him. By the time he reaches the bed, Oikawa is fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

At Iwaizumi’s request, they do not replace the mirrors in the king’s chambers.

The morning after, as the sun rises, Iwaizumi makes his way to the Arc Mage’s room and pounds on the door. He knows that Kuroo wakes at sunrise, something he learned from his master. So Iwaizumi knows he must be inside. He also knows that if anyone can figure out what the hell is going on with Oikawa, it’s Kuroo, the smartest person he knows.

“Who is it?” Kuroo calls out.

Iwaizumi doesn’t stop to think how strange that is. It’s something he realizes later. Kuroo is at the beck and call of the council and the king. Having been the Arc Mage for years now, he is used to his door being knocked on at the strangest of hours for the strangest of reasons. He never calls out to ask who it is, just tells them to come in so they can get to work.

He states his name and Kuroo replies, “Prove it.”

“I don’t have time for this. Open the fucking door, Kuroo!”

There is a moment of silence, then Kuroo opens the door to him, just a crack at first before allowing him entrance.

Iwaizumi checks over his shoulder to make sure the door is closed behind him before saying, “Something’s wrong with Oikawa. I don’t know what, but something’s wrong. You see him nearly as much as I do. You have to have noticed it too.”

“Of course.”

“And?” Iwaizumi prompts impatiently. “Have you found anything? I thought it was stress, but I don’t think so anymore.

“I thought he was stressed too so I charmed his pillows to help him sleep.”

“Can that give him nightmares?”

“Nightmares?”

“He told me he gets them. I don’t know how often, but they sound awful. He once dreamt of ripping out his own intestines and wearing them around his neck.”

Kuroo stares at him, eyes wide. He shakes his head. “No. That charm has never been reported to have any side effects.”

Iwaizumi begins to pace, hands on his waist as he walks back and forth across the small room. “Is there any history in his family of this happening? Some—some illness, you know?”

He stops to look at Kuroo, who shakes his head again, then begins pacing again.

“Can you stop that?” Kuroo asks sharply. “You’re making me anxious.”

Iwaizumi stops. “Sorry. I just. _Fuck_. He tried to stab his eyes out. He’s getting worse. There has to be something we can do.”

“I’ll keep looking into it.”

“Make it your priority.”

Kuroo nods. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

Over the course of a few days, there are no incidents. No times when Oikawa tilts his head at being addressed as Your Grace, no times where he startles at his shadow, no times a Royal Guard quietly reports he’s woken screaming again. Those few days are a blessing and Iwaizumi thinks this is finally behind them.

He finds out he was wrong when Sir Mizoguchi gives Iwaizumi and the other knights orders to be in the courtyard at a certain time. When the others ask why, Sir Mizoguchi says even he does not know, but the king has commanded all castle staff including knights and squires be present. Iwaizumi is hounded by questions from his fellow knights, asking if he knows the real reason since he’s so close to Oikawa, and it hurts to say he doesn’t.

What could be going on that Oikawa did not think to tell him about?

They gather in the courtyard in front of the castle and Iwaizumi goes pale at the sight of a wooden platform and a noose. He has seen executions before, but so rarely in the capital. Usually these things take place for murders or rapists in cities or villages. The sight of such a thing at his home, in the same place where he mounts his horse before a quest, is frightening.

He wants to run off and find Oikawa, ask what this is about, but he doesn’t get the chance before Oikawa steps out of the front door of the castle, several guards dragging a prisoner in chains behind him. The crowd murmurs then goes silent as the man is led to the platform and Oikawa begins to speak.

“This man,” Oikawa announces, his voice carrying across the courtyard that has been stunned into silence, “is a spy. He plotted to sell our secrets to our enemies to cause harm to both me and you, the people of this kingdom. For this, the penalty is death.”

They erupt into whispers again, but no one speaks out, no one questions him, their beloved king. Soon, the people are shouting that the man with a noose around his neck is a traitor, a bastard, scum, without any proof to back it up other than their king's word.

There is no proof, Iwaizumi thinks. He knows Oikawa’s schedule and he knows there was no trial held. There was no council meeting to discuss this. What the hell is he thinking executing someone without giving them the right to defend themselves? Aobajousai is a militaristic state, a kingdom that prides itself on its army and warriors, but they are not unjust. People are always given a trial in times of peace.

The man hangs to his death in front of all to see.

Iwaizumi almost swears Oikawa is smiling.

 

* * *

 

The entire castle grows tense after that first execution. The people of the city are fine, but the people working in the castle know otherwise. The council tries to comfort servants by telling them if they are not traitors or spies, they have no need to worry, but everyone knows that man was hung without a trial, something usually only done in a time of war or great strife. And with how Oikawa has been acting—not recognizing people, rumors of his uneasy mind spreading faster than fire—the people will soon begin to whisper that he is unfit to be king.

To make matters worse, Oikawa begins to arrest more and more people. Two are sentenced to death, both hung by the noose in the courtyard outside the castle for all the city to see, while the rest await uncertain fates in the prison below the castle. Iwaizumi has never seen so many prisoners in those cells. Oikawa insists they are guilty, so convinced by it everyone else seems to believe it as well 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do. He finds himself walking the castle halls more and more, hoping these old cobblestone halls will give him the answers he seeks. They do not give him answers, but they give him Oikawa’s elder sister. She looks so much like her late mother, or at least she looks like the portrait of the woman. Like Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s mother died when he was young. Oikawa has only the faintest memories of her, the smells of her scented soap and her voice when she sang him to sleep. Iwaizumi never met her. 

Princess Hatsue is far older than Iwaizumi or Oikawa. For a long time, it looked as though a woman _would_ take the throne. The late queen had always been a sickly woman and the kingdom was shocked to hear she was with a second child over ten years after her first. Iwaizumi always wondered if Hatsue resented her younger brother at all for merely existing. He could never tell. Like Oikawa, she was trained to hide her emotions in front of others and Iwaizumi was never particularly close to her.

Unlike Oikawa, who was raised a warrior, she was raised a lady. She had the same academic lessons as her brother, but none of the practical training. She wears a flowing dress without armor, fur soft at her neck and jewelry shined on her fingers. There is no sword at her hip, no quiver on her back, no muscle to her arms. She is a lady through and through.

“Princess Hatsue,” he greets, expecting her to pass by but she stops in front of him so he stops as well. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I wanted to talk to you, Sir Iwaizumi.”

He frowns. “Me?”

“Well, you see, I already talked to the council and they were no help.”

“About what?” 

“About my brother. The council thinks I’m being hysterical. They asked me if I was bleeding. The joys of being a woman.” She says this sarcastically with a rueful smile. With a more concerned expression, she goes on, “I think they are afraid to admit Tooru is not how he used to be. I’m certain you’ve noticed how my brother has changed.”

Iwaizumi shifts uncomfortably. “Of course.”

“I did not seek you out to ask you to fix him. I know you are doing all you can.”

“Then why did you come looking for me?”

“You are closer to Tooru than anyone else in this world. I wanted to see what you thought about a concern of mine. I’m worried about what Tooru will do if he thinks that Takeru is plotting against him. I fear what my brother may do to my son.”

Princess Hatsue may be Oikawa’s elder sister, but women cannot take the throne of Aobajousai so long as a male is available. Her teenage son, Takeru, is the crown prince, the next in line for the throne so long as Oikawa does not sire any sons.

And Oikawa has begun to punish suspected spies with death. Iwaizumi does not think a loose blood relation will stop Oikawa from hurting Takeru if he thinks his nephew is plotting against him to seize the throne.

Iwaizumi curses himself for not realizing this sooner. Thank the gods Princess Hatsue has always been a smart woman.

“You need to leave,” Iwaizumi says urgently. “Go to Datetech. Seek asylum there. Tooru would never dare start a conflict within those borders. Take your husband, take your son, and whatever servants you trust with your lives and go. I’ll deal with your brother.”

“I had come to the same conclusion as you, Sir Iwaizumi. I was actually hoping you would talk me out of it.” She frowns and looks away, the same way Oikawa does when there are tears in his eyes. She is quiet for a moment. “I may never sit on its throne, but Aobajousai is still my kingdom. It is still my home.”

“And it will still be yours when this is all said and done.”

“Do you think he can still be saved?” she asks, a tremor to her voice. “Tooru, that is.”

“No one is beyond saving. He’s just… stressed. He’ll get over this.”

It sounds hopeful, even to his own ears, but all he has is hope.

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve then looks at him with a practiced, perfect smile. “Let’s certainly hope so. I will write when I reach Datetech, though I will not use the kingdom’s name. I fear that it would be unsafe for us to communicate any further, should Tooru begin to monitor incoming letters, if he has not already.”

Iwaizumi frowns, seeing a flaw in her plan. “If he is reading letters already, he’d know I know where you are. Tooru could torture me for information on your location.”

“You may be his sworn knight, but I do not think he is quite the man you swore yourself to. You will not say anything. I am certain.”

He holds out his hand to shake her hand farewell, but she steps forward and embraces him. His body relaxes and he wraps his arms around her.

He can count on a single hand the number of times he has so much as touched the princess. Yet it does not feel like hugging a stranger. She has never felt like a stranger. Knowing Oikawa Tooru, the person behind the crown and practiced smile, was a bond they both shared.

“Take care, Princess.”

“You too, Sir Knight.” When she pulls back, she admits with a wide smile, “I always wanted to try calling you that just once.”

He laughs and when she leaves, it hardly feels like goodbye at all.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi knows there is some new gossip, can tell by the way the woman carrying linens press their heads together while they walk but quiet when they see Iwaizumi approaching. He knows by the way the squires won’t meet his eyes when they come to retrieve his armor after morning practice to shine it. A bit of light-hearted gossip may be good, he thinks. It might take people’s minds off of things. 

It isn’t until he meets with the Riders that he realizes it is not light-hearted.

“On my way here, I stopped by the kitchens to steal a pre-practice snack,” Matsukawa says.

“Naturally,” Hanamaki adds with a nod of his head, like this is perfectly reasonably.

Kunimi rolls his eyes.

“And I’m teeth deep in an apple when I hear that Oikawa’s offed his sister and nephew.” Matsukawa looks at Iwaizumi. “Rumor or bullshit?”

“Bullshit,” Iwaizumi says easily.

Matsukawa does not look away. More seriously, he says, “They’ve been missing for two weeks.”

Now, all of the Riders are looking at him curiously and Iwaizumi has the feeling he won’t be able to brush this off so easily.

He does not want them to know. He wants to protect them should this get any worse and Oikawa begins to ask them questions. Why couldn’t the rumor have been about Oikawa fucking some maiden servant in the stables? He would gladly take that familiar rumor over this.

“They’re safe,” Iwaizumi promises. He received and burned the letter that proved it just the other day. “And you don’t fucking know that. You’re just as concerned as everyone else. Got it?”

They nod.

 

* * *

 

Three months after the coronation, there is another execution, then another, and another. Just as Princess Hatsue feared, her brother begins to arrest anyone he suspects of plotting against him, servant or stranger, evidence or not. Servants keep their heads down and do their jobs as quickly as possible. No one wants to tends to the king's chambers or his personal stables, but his room remains clean and his stables mucked and horses watered. 

Soon the prisons are overflowing. There are two men to a cell, sometimes three, sometimes more. Iwaizumi has never seen them so full. Some of them await death, others indefinite imprisonment. Iwaizumi recognizes some of them, servants or people from around the city. He can’t stand to be down in those dark, damp halls and see people he has known his whole life cowering in the corners.

Iwaizumi tries to talk to Oikawa about it, but Oikawa will not see reason. He is convinced those men and women are against him. Nothing Iwaizumi says convinces him otherwise. Iwaizumi tracks down Kuroo and finds a place where they can be alone. Surely, after all this time, Kuroo has figured out what’s wrong with Oikawa.

“Well?” Iwaizumi prompts impatiently.

Kuroo gives him a look. “Well, what?”

“Your research?” Iwaizumi says quietly, eyes darting to the corners to see if someone is watching. “About Oikawa?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Kuroo says, voice sure.

Iwaizumi gawks at him. “How can you say that?”

Kuroo furrows his brow. “Why wouldn’t I say that?”

“A few weeks ago, you agreed with me. Hell, anyone with eyes and ears will agree with me!”

Kuroo gives him a cold look. “I wonder what our king would say if you were questioning him like this. You, his most loyal knight.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I’m just saying, I don’t see anything wrong with how King Oikawa is acting. The only one here who seems to think that is you, Sir Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi wants to punch him. Maybe that will knock some sense into him.

Instead, he just balls his hands into fists and turns, walking away. He punches a straw-man in the training grounds instead. 

 

* * *

 

There is a monthly council meeting to discuss the crown’s budget. Topics include paying the royal blacksmith, discussing money requested by the marshal for expanding the stables, and ensuring the forts are stocked and supplied for winter. Iwaizumi only half-understands these things. He understands the importance of where the money goes, but does not have a talent for the specific distribution. He only sits in because he is there for Oikawa. He sits and listens, but cannot voice his opinion. 

He hopes this is a moment of calmness, a moment of normality, but halfway through the meeting, Oikawa hums as he looks over a detailed list in front of him. He looks disinterested in whatever the paper says.

“We need more money,” he says lightly. “Could we raise taxes?”

There is a beat of silence, then one of the council members says, “Taxes were last raised two years ago to account for increased import costs. I believe if we look at the numbers again, we can stretch what we have so that—”

“Why stretch when we can just get more?” Oikawa asks. Iwaizumi frowns. “Ten percent, perhaps? Peasants should be able to manage that much, shouldn’t they?”

“Peasants?” Iwaizumi says, giving Oikawa a look. He never uses that word. Commoners at worst, but almost always the people.

“Yes,” Oikawa replies, returning his look, “ _peasants_.”

“Some people could pay, yes, but the vast majority won’t be able to,” a high standing merchant argues. “Ten percent means a lot to someone that is struggling to pay as is.”

“Then kill them,” Oikawa says simply.

Iwaizumi is the first to speak after several long seconds of silence. “Oikawa,” he says, disgusted. “You can’t kill them because they can’t pay taxes. That accomplishes nothing.”

“He’s right,” Kuroo says and Iwaizumi thinks Kuroo will be able to argue with Oikawa, knock some sense into him. The Arc Mage is the most trusted advisor of the king. “If you kill them, you lose their tax money altogether. You can’t kill the men. Who will tend to the farms then? Kill their wives then their children, see if that will make them comply.”

Iwaizumi’s stomach goes cold.

“It is not about complying!” someone shouts, slamming their hands on the table they sit around. “It is about them surviving. If you insist on raising taxes, Sire, please do something more reasonable, one percent, three at _most_ —”

“Ten,” Oikawa insists, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I think that is a very good start, Sire,” Kuroo agrees.

“Start?” someone chokes.

“Yes, a start,” Kuroo confirms. “More will be done in the future. We don’t want to be too eager at first. We must think of the people, after all.”

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi walks the halls like he is a ghost outside of his own body. He does not know what to think, if this is all some strange dream or a horrible reality. His mind races all hours of the day. Even during practice, he finds himself thinking of Oikawa and sometimes of Kuroo and their strange behavior. Surely, this can’t be the same Oikawa Tooru he has always known.

He is walking aimlessly through the halls, a common habit these days, when a Royal Guard comes up to him.

“We’ve lost the king,” they report.

Iwaizumi frowns. “Lost? How the hell did you lose him? He should be in bed at this hour.”

“He was. And two guards were outside of his door at all times. But then, we heard his windows rattling and opened to inspect his room, thinking the latch was broken. His window was indeed open, but he was nowhere to be seen. We think he climbed down.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No. Impossible. You can’t climb those walls without magic. There’re no footholds.”

“The king was not in his room. There’s no other explanation.”

“Oikawa doesn’t have magic.”

“It does not change the facts.”

Iwaizumi curses. Now, he runs through the halls with purpose. Up and down the halls he goes, wondering where he could be, why he would leave his room, how he left his room. Were the guards mistaken? Was he hiding under his bed, perhaps? That is an even stranger thought. Why would he do that? Why is any of this happening?

He finds Oikawa in the darkness of the forest. He wears only his nightclothes, loose pants and a looser top, no shoes to keep his feet warm from the cold, rough forest floor. He darts between the trees, occasionally stopping to peak around one at Iwaizumi with a cheerful expression before running off again.

“You’re so slow!” Oikawa calls out, laughing. 

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi calls back. “Get back here. Stop running!”

Oikawa stops and pivots, turning to look at him. “But you’re supposed to catch me. You said you wanted to play knights and bandits, remember?”

A game, Iwaizumi thinks, a game they used to play all the time as children. One of them would play the knight and the other the bandit and they would chase each other through the forests until the knight won or Oikawa had lessons or Iwaizumi squire duties. It seems like a lifetime ago they played that game.

Before Iwaizumi can reply, Oikawa takes off running again. Iwaizumi curse and follows, sprinting after him, Oikawa running with reckless abandon, laughing like a child, not caring where he runs, low branches coming dangerously close to his head, like he is seeing a different forest. 

“Oikawa!” he shouts, close enough to reach out, wrapping his fingers tightly around Oikawa’s arm and tugging him to a halt. Oikawa grins at him.

“Do you want to switch?” Oikawa asks. “Or do you have to squires duties?”

Squire? Iwaizumi thinks, then realizes what’s going on. It hits him like a stone, his chest tightening.

Oikawa thinks they’re children again.

“I’m not a squire."

Oikawa laughs. “I know you’re playing a knight, but that doesn’t actually make you one.”

“Look at me!” Iwaizumi demands, shaking Oikawa harshly, grip so tight his knuckles are white. “Do I look like a child to you?”

Oikawa’s eyes flicker.

“You—Hajime?” Oikawa frowns and tries to get out of his grip, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let go. He stops struggling after several seconds, looking around, teeth beginning to chatter in the cold. “Weren’t we playing? Why were we playing? What’s happening?”

Oikawa’s body goes limp and he drops to his knees, Iwaizumi following him. Oikawa seems so small in that moment, terrified, his body almost curling in on itself. Iwaizumi feels even smaller.

“Is it still there?” Oikawa looks around frantically, turning his head from side to side. “Do you see it?”

“See  _what_?”

Oikawa looks at him, head stilling. “It’s always here. I can feel it. It’s here now. It’s here, it’s here!”

His eyes are begging Iwaizumi to see what he sees. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t. He only sees madness.

“If it’s here,” Iwaizumi reasons, “then let’s leave.”

Oikawa shakes his head again. “I can’t just leave this place. I swore an oath to these people, to this kingdom, to the _gods_ —"

“Fuck the kingdom,” Iwaizumi spits. “Fuck the gods. None of that matters to me. You’re all that matters to me. Let’s go. Just you and me. Let’s go, forget this place, and never look back.”

“I can’t,” Oikawa says, repeating it again and again, more desperate and lost each time he says it. He hangs his head and his hands fall from Iwaizumi’s arms, limp at his sides. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone, Hajime!”

Iwaizumi moves his hands to Oikawa’s face and gently cups his jaws in his hands. Only then does Oikawa quiet, only then does Oikawa look at him again.

“I won’t leave you,” Iwaizumi promises as he strokes his thumb across Oikawa’s cheek. “No matter what happens, I’ll never leave you, Tooru.”

(When Iwaizumi looks back, he realizes that is the last time he saw the Oikawa he once knew and even then, he was already mad.)

 

* * *

 

Four months after the coronation, Iwaizumi is returning from the stables and sees the pyres behind the castle being used. In northern Aobajousai, where the ground is often too cold to dig up the ground, only the royal family is buried and that is done with water. The rest are burned to ash. The pyres are where they burn bodies, but Iwaizumi has not heard of anything being scheduled.

He approaches the guards watching over the fire.

“Who are they?” Iwaizumi demands, gesturing towards the bodies wrapped in bloody burlap.

“Prisoners the Arc Mage was using,” one of the guards says. “For his experiments, I think.”

“Experiments?”

“We don’t know much,” the other guard says, shifting. “We were just told to bring the men he wanted from the dungeons to his workspace and then to remove the bodies when he was done.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether to be sick or afraid.

“Who else knows about this?” Iwaizumi asks.

“The Arc Mage, of course, and I believe the king. I’ve seen them walking the dungeons together to pick… subjects.” The guard frowns and swallows, clearly sick at the thought. "We don't really know the details and to be completely honest, Sir Iwaizumi, we've been afraid to say anything."

Iwaizumi takes a few deep breathes to steady himself and the rage that sweeps over him. How dare Oikawa do this? How dare Kuroo? He does not think these guards are lying, does not think they are trying to hide bodies they somehow accumulated. That makes no sense. It scares him that the truth, that Oikawa and Kuroo are responsible, makes more sense these days.

"Take care of yourselves," Iwaizumi says, leaving. 

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi is on another late-night walk when he comes across Kuroo and Kenma, tucked around the corner of another hallway. He hears them before he sees them and stops just around the corner, listening in. 

“I won’t stand by any longer,” Kenma warns.

“Oh, and what do you plan to do?” Kuroo asks, almost taunting. Kenma does not respond. Kuroo laughs lowly. “Things have changed,” Kuroo says with a sinister grin. “I’m stronger now. Maybe even stronger than you. I can feel it running in these veins.”

Kuroo lifts his staff and Iwaizumi jerks forward to stop him, but Kenma is faster than them both. Kenma’s hand shoots up and, without a staff, he casts a spell.

Kuroo drops to his knees, muscles straining like he is fighting gravity itself, trying to stand, trying to move and he _can’t_. The only part of him that can move are his hands, coming up to grasp at his neck, clawing at it as he gasps and sputters like a fish out of water.

Iwaizumi stands frozen. He tries to think of all the times he has seen Kenma use magic. There are only a few memories that come to mind, but none of them like this. He has never seen Kenma use his magic to hurt someone, hadn’t even known the man knew such spells or was capable of it. He hadn't known Kenma was as strong as Kuroo always said. 

Kenma murmurs something else and Kuroo gasps for breath, coughing and doubling over.

“Don’t challenge me,” Kenma warns. “Even with your festering dark magic, you won’t win.”

Kenma walks away, leaving Kuroo behind him, and Iwaizumi ducks down another hall to avoid being spotted.

That night, unbeknownst to Kuroo, Oikawa, or Iwaizumi, Kenma leaves for Nekoma.

 

* * *

 

Five months after the coronation, Iwaizumi tells the Riders to ride far away and get the hell out of here. Leave the continent if they have to. Go east to Shiratorizawa, or south where it’s warm. Just get the hell away. They look at him when he’s done his speech, expressions varied.

“We’re not leaving,” Kindaichi says with resolve, the first to speak after a moment. “At least, I’m not. I meant it when I said those words before his coronation. Until it Breaks. And I’m not broken yet, Captain.”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re the only one with a pair of balls,” Hanamaki says, tossing an arm around Kindaichi’s shoulders. “I’m staying, too.”

“And me, of course,” Matsukawa adds.

They look to Kunimi, who sighs, and says, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Iwaizumi can’t help the smile that forms on his lips. “You’re all fucking idiots.”

“We’re _your_ fucking idiots,” Matsukawa says, grinning.

“His, technically,” Hanamaki says, meaning Oikawa, “but semantics.”

Iwaizumi wishes they weren’t like this, but he is glad to have the support.

Then, the look on their faces change, eyes behind Iwaizumi, who turns and looks as well. Approaching them is Oikawa, who has his bow and quiver.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says as the man comes to stand next to him, fiddling with his thumb ring. “I thought you had a meeting.”

“Aren’t you happy to see me, Sir Knight?” he teases with a familiar smile from so long ago but it feels wrong, out of place.

“You haven’t come to practice in a while,” Matsukawa comments carefully.

“Being a king takes more time than I thought,” Oikawa says lightly. “I have a hunt tomorrow and wanted to be fresh so I managed to find time to join you all. I've missed our practices. I've missed you all."

“Yeah,” Kindaichi says, sounding hopeful that this is a moment of sanity. Iwaizumi wishes he had his optimism. “Yeah! Let’s practice together.”

Oikawa smiles and it almost feels normal. 

 

* * *

 

At Oikawa's request, the next morning, the Riders join Oikawa on his hunt, only to find they will not be hunting animals. They took their horses to the edge of the hunting grounds beyond the sacred pond in the forests at the base of the mountains. They watch in horror as guards lead prisoners in chains, releasing the shackles at their feet but leaving the ones are their wrists. 

For a brief moment, Iwaizumi hopes they will be the beaters, the people who hit the bushes to rustle up wildlife, but the squires are there with sticks and spare weapons. That job is fulfilled. All jobs are fulfilled, all except the prey. 

“I’m leaving,” Kunimi says quietly, ducking his head.

"I'm—I'm going with Akira," Kindaichi says, rushing after him.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa don't even announce that they're leaving, they just do. 

But Iwaizumi can't leave. He can't let this happen. He stomps towards Oikawa, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him to the side to a place where no one else is lingering, waiting for the hunt the begin. Oikawa leans against a tree and crosses his arms, expression bored. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Iwaizumi hisses.

“I’m thinking of which I want mounted on my walls."

“You can’t do this, Oikawa.”

“I am hunting today and you cannot stop me. Unless you plan to keep me entertained in bed for the day, Sir Knight? It’s been some time since I put my cock in you,” Oikawa says coolly, devoid of emotion. Iwaizumi clenches his jaw, fists tight at his sides. Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Well? Shall I fuck you, or shall I hunt these animals?”

Iwaizumi wants to take him up on his offer, just so these strangers will be spared. But his pride does not allow it. He has fucked Oikawa and let Oikawa fuck him, but sex was never a means to an end. He would not give his body if it was not for love.

“I’m not joining you,” Iwaizumi says coldly. “This is not sport I will partake in.”

Oikawa makes a noise. “Suit yourself,” he says calmly and pivots to walk away from him. “You’re nowhere near as fun as you used to be, you know.”

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi sits next to Oikawa the council meeting, shoulders stiff as they discuss money. Taxes are back from the outlying villages and not everyone could pay, even within the city of Seijoh. Some were short by a bit, others by quite a lot. As suspected, not everyone could gather the money they needed so quickly, if they ever could.

“What shall we do?” Kuroo asks Oikawa, like they are discussing what they will eat, not like they are discussing the people they rule.

“Burn their villages to the ground,” Oikawa orders with a dismissive wave of his hand. “If they cannot contribute, they are no use to us.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, voice low, “don’t do this.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” Oikawa asks coldly.

Iwaizumi inhales and chooses his words carefully. He's never had to be careful around Oikawa, at least not like this, and it feels so strange, so wrong. “You can’t kill people because they can’t pay. I’m sure they’re giving everything they have, but it’s just not enough. That last tax increase was too much, just like we warned you.”

"That is not my fault. The peasants—"

"They are your people and you are their ruler. You're meant to help them, not run them into a corner and exploit them for your own sick pleasure!"

Oikawa stands, raises his hand, and brings it down hard on Iwaizumi’s face.  

The world spins.

Iwaizumi’s head jerks to the side and he leaves it there, not looking at Oikawa, not wanting to have whatever cruel expression resides on his face etched into his memory. The sting on his cheek and ringing in his ears are bad enough.

The room is deathly silent. 

“I am tired of you disobeying me,” Oikawa says loudly, not quite a shout, too calm and collected and thought-out to be a shout of anger. “I am your _king_ and you _will_ look at me when I am talking to you.”

Iwaizumi looks back at him.

It doesn’t feel like he is looking at Oikawa at all.

“Know your place, knight. You are nothing but a body with a sword to me. Keep your mouth shut unless I want it wrapped around my cock. Well, have I made myself clear, Sir Iwaizumi? Answer me properly or I'll hit you again until you do."

Iwaizumi's teeth grind. "Yes, My King."

 

* * *

 

Oikawa sends a group of knights and soldiers to the five villages that could not pay their taxes. Some they will burn, others they merely kill the woman. He orders them to bring back one child alive from each village to be executed in front of the people as a warning. Iwaizumi supposes he’s lucky Oikawa did not ask him lead the quest himself.

As soldiers march under their king’s orders, Iwaizumi swings his sword in one of the training grounds, hacking away at straw-men and cursing every time he remembers the sting on his cheek. Sweat drips down to his shirt, his hands are numb from holding the hilt so tightly, and his feet ache from the hard pressure of his lunges. It’s not enough to replace that sting, not enough to forget the look on Oikawa’s face, like it wasn’t his face at all.

When he hears someone approach behind him, he whirls, sword poised for attack. He calms when he sees the Riders.

“We saw a bunch of soldiers and knights leaving the castle and asked around,” Matsukawa says. “It's a lie, right? Something else is going on?"

“Oikawa’s lost his damn mind is what’s going on,” Hanamaki snaps. “He’s turning into a monster!”

“He’s already a monster,” Kunimi says quietly. “There’s five more executions planned for this afternoon. Two of them are children that work in the castle. And I heard he’s going ‘hunting’ again tomorrow.”

“My father said he wants hundreds of weapons made,” Kindaichi says. “My father didn’t ask why, but he says you’d only need this many if you wanted to start a war.”

“A war?” Hanamaki asks. “With who?”

“This is fucking bullshit,” Matsukawa spits. “Iwaizumi, what—"

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

Iwaizumi tosses his sword to the side, hearing it hit the ground with a scrape just before his knees join it.

He screams so loudly he can feel his throat ripping to pieces.

He screams so loudly his head is dizzy from it.

He screams so loudly even the gods must hear his cry, but they do not respond.

When he has no air left to breathe, he sucks in a massive breath and curls forward, back arching outward like an unbending mountain, and touches his forehead to the ground. He wishes he could dissolve into the earth, leave this body and life behind, and wait for the day the true Oikawa returned to him.

“Captain,” Kindaichi says in a small voice. “What can we do?”

 

* * *

 

Six months after the coronation, Oikawa declares his intent to go to invade Karasuno and Iwaizumi puts a sword to his throat.  

This is all he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter start immediately after the coronation in the previous chapter and bring us right up to the start of the fic "Hope" where Iwaizumi is imprisoned and escapes with the help of the Riders.


	21. Gift

Hinata likes to think of him and Kageyama as partners. They work well together in battle, though that wasn’t always the case, and Hinata thinks he’s the closest friend Kageyama has. Kageyama is certainly his closest friend. They don’t go to the tavern together, but they practice together from sunrise till sunset and push each other to be better, to _do_ better.

He’s gotten used to sharing a room with Kageyama over the years. When he first joined the Ukai Mercenaries, Hinata was assigned to share a room with Kageyama in that old, dilapidated fort he misses deep down. As they traveled, they shared tents, or rooms at inns, or wherever it was they were staying. Even now, they share a room at Sendai’s castle, tucked away in a corner with two large windows, two beds, and one grouchy archer.

Hinata ignores Kageyama when he’s grouchy. He doesn’t like getting yelled at, no matter what Tsukishima believes. Besides, he has his wood carving to finish.

They work quietly on their own projects, Hinata his wood carving and Kageyama messing with his arrows, until Hinata is finished and springs from his bed, bounding towards the door to find Kenma.

“Hey,” Kageyama says gruffly as he reaches for the handle.

Hinata startles. It’s been a long time since Kageyama sounded like _that_.

He turns around hesitantly, casting Kageyama a glance over his shoulder, and defensively says, “Yeah?” ready for a fight.

“You haven’t mentioned,” Kageyama says with a frown, the sentence only half complete. He grumbles and looks away. “You never asked.”

“Huh?”

Kageyama balls his hands into fists in his lap, looking back at Hinata but not meeting his eyes. “What Kuroo said when he was possessed. You asked during the battle, but not after.”

Hinata remembers the battle clearly. He remembers what Kuroo—no, what the demon possessing him said when he recognized Kageyama. It said Kuroo knew Kageyama, that Kageyama was a fuck-up. It asked Iwaizumi why he hadn’t told them yet about his dearest, favorite little soldier and how he—

Then it had been cut off by Kenma casting an amazing spell.

Hinata lowers his defenses and shrugs. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“But you asked during the battle!” Kageyama replies loudly.

“It caught me off guard!” Hinata replies just as loud. He scratches the back of his head. More level, he says, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re with us. And whatever you did in the past doesn’t affect us now, right?”

Kageyama blinks at him and Hinata thinks he looks like a scared animal. In the few years he’s known Kageyama, he’s never seen him like this. Nervous, hesitant. It seems weird to even think of Kageyama like this.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kageyama confirms gruffly.

Hinata smiles widely. “I’m gonna go find Kenma. Wanna train later?”

Kageyama nods and goes back to checking out his arrows.

Hinata leaves with a spring in his step, not even thinking about the conversation he just had with Kageyama. His mind is pouring over the words he’s going to say when he gives Kenma his gift. He had started it on a whim, but he liked working on it. It gave him something to do when they were traveling with Ushijima to Heaven’s Peak and he smiled every time he thought about Kenma smiling at the sight.

It’s not the best. He knows that. But he thinks it’s okay.

He checks Kenma’s room, but he doesn’t find them there. Frowning, he sets off to see if he can find Tsukishima because Kuroo hangs around Tsukishima these days, though Tsukishima doesn’t seem to like it, and if he can find Tsukishima, he can find Kuroo, and then he can find Kenma.

But he doesn’t need to go that far because as he looks through the courtyards in the center of the castle, he finds Kenma sitting beneath a tall tree with purple leaves fiddling with some sort of metal puzzle game. He seems to be trying to separate the pieces, but they're so twisted it looks impossible.

Kenma loves his games. Hinata loves playing games with him, learning the way to move pieces or playing cards or metal bits and baubles. The only game he ever played growing up was knights and bandits with the kids in his village. He didn’t even know things like this existed until much later and he didn’t know how many existed until he met Kenma.

Hinata comes and sits in the grass in front of him, Kenma looking at him briefly before looking back down at his game.

“Hi!” Hinata greets cheerfully.

“Hi,” Kenma returns quietly.

“I, um,” Hinata says, flustered, the words he prepared suddenly gone. He can feel himself going red. “I made you something!”

Kenma looks up this time and doesn’t look away. Flustered, Hinata hurries to reach into his pocket and pull out the tiny wood carving. He holds it out to Kenma, who sets down his metal puzzle and takes it like it’s a fragile thing.

Kenma looks at the wood carving, frowning as he turns it this way and that, before asking, “Is it a bear?”

Hinata groans and tugs at his hair. “It was supposed to be a cat.”

Kenma turns it around and makes a soft sound. “I see it.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better, aren’t you?” Hinata asks miserably, hands back in his lap.

“No, I can see it.” Kenma closes his hands around the small carving, looking at Hinata with a surprisingly open expression, but Hinata still can’t figure out what it means. All he sees is what he wants to see, that Kenma feels the same about him. “Thank you, Shouyou.”

Hinata perks up, smiling widely. “I’ll make you more!”

Kenma smiles, too, though he tilts his head down to hide it. He brings a hand up to brush his hair behind his ear and Hinata can see the skin of his face, which is tinted red like a rose. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

“You don’t have to,” Kenma says quietly, fiddling with the little wooden cat, “but I won’t stop you.”

“I liked making it. It was fun!” Hinata leans back on his hands, happy and warm in the sun. “I’m glad I finished it when I did. You’ve seemed kind of down since Kuroo joined us. Which is weird because I thought you’d be happy he’s alive?”

Kenma leans back against the tree, looking down at the cat and not meeting his eyes. “He’s in a lot of pain.”

“But he can walk and stuff now.”

“It’s not that kind of pain.”

“He has you, though. And Tsukishima for some reason, but I don’t know why anyone would want Tsukishima. He has the worst bedside manner! Yamaguchi and he were helping us out on a job once and I broke my leg and Tsukishima had to watch over me for a few hours and it was the _worst_. And I’ve been stabbed! It was worse than being stabbed.”

Kenma laughs quietly, looking at him, his eyes bright but not at the same time, his emotions conflicted. “I don’t know why, but Tsukishima’s presence calms him. And Kuroo’s always had a strange sense of humor. I think him and Tsukishima get along in that regard.”

Hinata hums. “I don’t get it, but okay.”

“I think he’ll get better eventually. I just hope it’s soon. It’s hard to see him like that.”

Hinata looks at him and sees the sadness in his face, the conflict, the thought of _I made him like this_.

“I’m here if you need me,” Hinata promises.

“Thank you, Shouyou.”

Kenma goes back to his puzzle, but Hinata doesn’t leave, sitting and watching him until it’s time to find Kageyama and train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that I will explicitly address Kageyama's past at some point in this fic. Also, this chapter was originally just supposed to be a scene tacked on to some larger chapter but I couldn't find a chapter that fit so it ended being it's own short chapter. And I think I needed to a short bit of fluff after the last chapter to even things out before progressing.


	22. Sworn Knight

Sawamura does not understand how the emperor and his men can go about this so calmly. There is no sense of urgency, no hurry to set off and begin the process to give Michimiya back her home. He thought preparing for a war, and that is what this has come to, would be a frenzied, chaotic thing, but it is surprisingly calm. Sawamura knows things must be arranged—money, supplies, horses, weapons, a literal _army_ —and though his rational mind tells him not to be upset at what feels like a snail's pace, he still is.

He feels helpless as they wait around for the proper meetings to take place. He feels even more helpless knowing he will not allowed through the entrance simply because he is not a noble. Even though he was there from the start, from the moment Iwaizumi brought her to the Ukai Mercenaries from help. He has seen her through this and now he can't do anything simply because he had the misfortune of being born to a farmer and a baker? (And he does not consider it a misfortune. He loves his home and his family, and he misses them dearly whenever they drift into his thoughts.)

There's nothing he hates more than politics.

He is walking back to his room, fresh from swinging his axe at the air in fruitless frustration in one of the courtyards, when he sees Princess Michimiya walking towards him. Instantly, he forgets the annoying stick of sweat on his skin and the ache in his shoulder from pushing himself to hard. It all disappears when he sees her.

Sawamura loves the dresses the Shiratorizawa tailors made for her. They’re nothing like what the noble women of Karasuno wear. These gowns are like the woman that wears them: gorgeous and radiating with power. She may be soft spoken like the finer details of her dresses, but she is a strong leader that cares deeply for her kingdom and the people under her command.

She smiles when she sees him at the other side of the hall. When they are within talking distance, they both stop, and perhaps take one step closer than necessary towards each other, the distance shortening, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Still, they do not press, neither taking that extra step. Sawamura wonders if she wants to take that step like he wants to.

“I was searching for you,” she says, eyeing the axe on his back. “I have not yet had the chance to welcome you home.”

He does not know what he means until he sees her pull a strip of orange fabric from her sleeve. He then takes his axe off his back, holding it still in front of him, and her hands reach out to tie the strip of fabric next to the black strip that is now faded and covered in dirt and grim.

As she ties the orange strip of fabric next to the black strip, she says, “Ever since my family took the throne of Karasuno, each ruler has had a sworn knight, not unlike Sir Iwaizumi is to King Oikawa. Though, from my understanding, Aobajousai has no tradition of sworn knights. In Karasuno, however, these knights are called the king or queen’s wings.”

Sawamura has never heard about this, but then again, he doesn’t know much about knights and nobles and things like that. What little he knows is what he learned from Sir Ukai and from Michimiya along their journey.

“Your guidance, kindness, and strength have made this journey possible,” Michimiya goes on, tying off the knot and tugging it tight. “When Ukai is not available, you are the leader of the mercenaries. Everyone respects you for your skill, kindness, and courage. There is no other man I would want to watch my back. I want _you_ to become my wings, Sawamura.”

“I can’t be a knight,” Sawamura says with a shake of his head. “I’m a commoner.”

“You do not have to be a commoner,” she replies. She touches the strips of fabric gently, like they are a fragile thing. When she draws back her hand, he places his axe on his back. “I have the power to grant you a noble title.”

“Me? Nobility?” Sawamura laughs. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I want you to always be by my side, to walk where I walk, to stand where I stand. You cannot do that as a commoner.”

She reaches out then, fitting her palm against his jaw and rubbing her thumb gently across his sun-tanned cheek. Her fingers are not silken smooth, but they are not yet rough either, and her expression is so warm it could melt the coldest of hearts.

“Become my wings, Sawamura.”

It is a command, but he could say no. She would not punish him for it. He knows that. He also knows that he has no idea how to be a noble. What would he do? Would it change how people act around him? He doesn’t want that. But he also wants to be by her side, now and forever.

He overlaps her hand with his. “Okay. I’ll be your wings.”

She smiles widely and for a moment, he wants to lean down and kiss her. He wants to feel that smile on his lips, to remember this moment by the taste on his tongue. But he can’t. She’s a princess and he’s just a man, a soon to be nobleman, but a man nonetheless. He can never hold her the way he wants to, commoner or nobleman.

He releases her hand, but her touch lingers for a moment longer before her hand falls back to her side.

“There will have to be a ceremony,” she tells him as they begin to walk again, this time in the same direction. “Ukai has been working with the empire to arrange it. I want the empire to recognize your change in status so that you may sit in on the meetings to come.”

“You’re already planning something? What if I had said no?”

She looks up at him, smiling. “I knew you would not say no if I was the one asking. You would do anything for me if I asked, but fear not, I vow to never ask a service of you that might bring you dishonor.”

“I know. You have a good heart.”

“And now I have wings.”

 

* * *

 

Ukai tells him what he needs to know about the ceremony, what he’s supposed to say and what to wear, since he's the only one besides Michimiya that has seen one of these things. The ceremony and all it's necessities are arranged quickly for that very afternoon so that he can sit in on any war talks to come in the following days. She did not want him to miss another meeting and apparently this is something she has been planning since they first moved into Sendai's castle. 

He ends up wearing his armor but leaving his weapon behind him when he makes his way a large room in the castle. There he sees tall columns and a mass of people in tight, neat rows, not a thing out of place. There are pitch-black banners with orange crow heads hanging over the opulent windows that run from floor to ceiling at the back of the room. Then, he sees Michimiya standing on a plush purple rug that runs the length of the room, wearing a gorgeous burnt orange gown with a high collar, tailored sleeves and chest, and a flowing trail. His heart pounds at the sight of her and he remembers what this pomp and circumstance is all for: so that he can stand by her, always.

To her side is Ukai, who smiles when he sees Sawamura approach. “I’m proud of you,” he told Sawamura when they went over the details of the ceremony just hours before. “My stubborn ass grandfather would be, too. You’re gonna make a damn good knight, kid.”

He walks along the purple rug through the crowd of people. He sees Sugawara and Azumane, and the rest of the mercenaries and their traveling companions. There are clergy from Shiratorizawa, as well as noblemen and several monks, Ushijima included, though the emperor is expectedly absent from what must be a pointless ceremony to him. 

When he reaches Michimiya and Ukai, he drops to his knee and waits. 

“In the name of House Michimiya, I, Michimiya Yui, Princess of Karasuno, hereby grant you, Sawamura Daichi, the title and rank of lord and all the honors it conveys.”

She walks around him, heels of her boots clicking on the white floor when she leaves the carpet, and drapes a pitch-black cape on his back, reaching around to link it in front of him with a silver chain. He fights the urge to turn his head and smile at her, looking straight ahead, pride and anticipation and nervousness swelling in his chest.

Then, she returns to her previous position and looks to her side to Ukai, who hands her a gorgeous rapier. It’s so strange to see her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword, but she does not seem awkward or stiff. She does not tilt her head down to look at him, her chin parallel to the ground as she addresses him.

“Do you pledge your sword and your honor to the kingdom of Karasuno from this day forward until your dying breath?”

“I pledge my sword and my honor.”

“Do you swear to never fight for your own benefit, whether it be for glory or gold, to only fight for what is right and for the kingdom of Karasuno?”

“I swear it.”

With grace and poise, she raises and lowers the tip of the blade, touching it down to one shoulder then lifting it over his head and tapping the other.

“Arise, Sir Sawamura,” she commands as she draws the rapier back to her side, “lord and knight of Karasuno.”

When he stands, he doesn’t feel any different, but he didn’t think he would. He does feel proud, though.

Proud to be a knight of a fine kingdom.

Proud to be her wings.

He looks around at his friends and the noblemen and clergy that have gathered to witness the ceremony. Sugawara and Azumane are shouting happily, outdone only by Hinata. Even Tsukishima is clapping, although begrudgingly.

Iwaizumi, however, seems lost in thought.

 

* * *

 

The rumors begin to spread the instant the Sir Irihata writes Iwaizumi’s name on a list of squires to be knighted during the winter equinox. He’s too young, they all whisper when they think he cannot hear, a boy of only fifteen. Even the youngest knight to be appointed had been eighteen and that had been a scandal. It is simply underheard of, but the king accepts Sir Irihata’s request.

Iwaizumi Hajime is to be made a knight of Aobajousai.

Most of the other knights and squires do not gossip like the rest. They have seen him train, seen him fight. He has defeated many of them and they hadn’t held back because of his age. He is a natural with a sword, they say. They have not seen him practicing in the dead of night in the forest until his fingers felt numb and the spit inside of his mouth seemed to freeze in the cold night air. They have not seen the bruises from his trainings, or the piles of books on weapons and tactics he’s read.

He is not a natural. He is a trained warrior.

His clothes are laid out for him by the younger squires. A simple white shirt, tan pants, and brown boots. He will have to stand the cold of the forest without the comfort of a cloak or layers. He washes his body with water from a basin then dresses. He has never worn pure white before and the color seems strange on him. It makes his skin look darker than it is.

When he leaves the squires’ quarters, he sees Oikawa leaning against the opposite wall. Oikawa is wearing his ceremonial attire, each piece painstakingly made and decorated—the silver circlet on his head marking him as the crown prince, brown leather gloves, a dark teal cape with fur at the collar held at the front with a silver chain across his chest, and a pale teal, high-collared tunic tied at waist by an elegant broadsword scabbard.

Iwaizumi sighs and begins to walk, Oikawa easily falling into step beside him.

“Are you nervous?” Oikawa asks teasingly. “It’s okay to be nervous as long as you don’t forget your oath. You won’t forget your oath, will you?”

“No,” Iwaizumi replies, short.

Oikawa hums. “I don’t know what happens if you forget your oath. Do you think they still let you become a knight?”

“I won’t forget. Should you even be here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the pond?”

“I would be, if you hadn’t taken so long.”

“You didn’t have to wait,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

 _I wanted to_ , goes left unsaid.

But Iwaizumi has places to be and Oikawa walks at a leisurely pace. Oikawa can’t get in trouble for being late because he’s the godsdamn prince. His father may give him a frown, but won’t punish him as long as he shows up in a relatively timely manner. He’s very lenient on Oikawa because Oikawa has surpassed all expectations in his studies and training. Iwaizumi must be on time, though, so he walks faster, even when Oikawa complains about him going too fast.

The whole way there, Oikawa talks and talks. Iwaizumi can tell a lot from the way he talks. He can tell from his voice, from the practiced-perfect smile he knows is there, from the way his arms move in some grand overdramatically gesture in the corner of his vision.

He can tell that Oikawa is happy. That he is proud. That he is nervous just like Iwaizumi.

Behind the castle, there is a stone path that leads through the forest to the sacred pond. The path is covered in snow, the blue of the sky and the green pines the only color, but Iwaizumi knows the way, even without the tread marks of those that came before him. Oikawa follows along at his side, leaving him only when the reach the pond.

Iwaizumi stands in a line with the other squires to be knighted, ten of them in total. Oikawa goes to stand next to his father, sister, and other members of the council.

By the time the king has finished his long-winded speech about honor and pride and any number of things the knights are meant to embody, the cold has seeped in deep into Iwaizumi’s veins. His thin white shirt does little to ward off the cold, but he tries his best not to shiver, as do the men beside him.

They are told to kneel and Iwaizumi obeys.

They are told to recite their oath and Iwaizumi obeys.

“I shall uphold the laws and wisdom of the gods of old.  
I shall protect the weak and innocent from all evils.  
I shall never stray from this path until my dying breath.

“I give the gods of old my blade, my body, and my life.  
I swear this oath as a knight of the old gods.”

Iwaizumi lifts his head, though he is not supposed to. He looks at Oikawa, at his prince, and Oikawa looks back.

“I give House Oikawa my blade, my body, and my life.”

Oikawa’s face is dark and possessive, like a spoiled child. Everyone that looks upon his face will know Iwaizumi’s oath is for him and only him. He may make his oath to the gods, to the kingdom, to Oikawa’s house, but he will answer to Oikawa Tooru and Oikawa Tooru alone.

He shall be Oikawa’s knight from now until the end of time.

“I swear this oath as a knight of Aobajousai.”

Iwaizumi lowers his head and closes his eyes once more when the oath is complete, but he can still feel the weight of Oikawa’s gaze on him. It is not a bruising, crushing weight. It solidifies him, compacts him, gives him strength.

“May you be blessed by the old gods and the ancestors of the family you have sworn to protect!” the king declares.

There is a moment of silence following his words, then the crunch of snow as he walks behind him towards the sacred pond where his ancestors have been laid to rest. Their bodies lie dormant at the bottom of the pond, wrapped in furs and iron chains, while their souls rest with the gods.

Iwaizumi does not look, as he is forbidden from raising his head until he is told to rise, but he knows what follows. He has watched knighting ceremonies before and he has been trained on how to act for his own.

The king dips a silver goblet into the freezing waters. He moves from squire to squire and bathes them in the sacred water to purify them. Then, he calls them by name to rise as a knight of the kingdom.

When Iwaizumi hears the snow crunch in front of him, he knows someone is standing before him and he prepares to be cleansed. He knows the small amount of water in the goblet will chill him to the bone yet he welcomes it. This is the moment he has trained years for.

“Open your eyes,” a voice says, but it is not the king’s and it is not the traditional phrase. You are to keep your eyes closed until you rise a knight.

Iwaizumi opens his eyes as he lifts his head and he sees Oikawa standing before him, holding the silver goblet containing the water of the sacred pond. He holds it aloft in both hands, ready to pour it. The king stands nearby, watching, not even seeming to think of chastising his beloved son for breaking tradition. Perhaps this was even the king’s idea.

“May these waters cleanse your soul,” Oikawa says before tipping the goblet forward.

Iwaizumi does not close his eyes or flinch away as the freezing water is poured over his head. It runs down his face in rivets, dripping from his chin and soaking his hair and clothes. He does not know if he feels cleansed or not. He only knows the weight of Oikawa’s gaze, the small smile that tugs at the prince’s lips that he tries to repress, like this is funny to him and he enjoys drenching Iwaizumi in cold water. Iwaizumi hopes it doesn’t become a habit.

“Rise, Sir Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says, breaking tradition once again by holding out his hand to help Iwaizumi stand, “as a knight of Aobajousai.”

Hand in hand, Iwaizumi rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to hit "edit chapter" and hit "post chapter" so here we are a few days earlier than I planned to release this.
> 
> This [wonderful art](http://lahdolphin.tumblr.com/post/180286144247/i-commissioned-the-lovely-ineffablewitch-to-do) was loosely based on the scenes where Iwaizumi and Oikawa were walking together in the castle.
> 
> I'm also reaching the point where I don't have every chapter written ahead of time (I had a long stretch of having ten or so chapters written for this part of the story) so updates may be a bit more infrequent at times. Please bear with me. My goal is finish this fic by summer if possible, but my work and health come first.


	23. Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you see another language, hover over and get a translation.

When the next meeting is held, the generals of Shiratorizawa and several other high standing military officials are also present. Iwaizumi walks into the guarded room and watches Sawamura and Michimiya share a small smile when Sawamura is allowed in without a fuss.

“Well, _Sir_ Sawamura,” Iwaizumi says with a teasing grin, “how does it feel to have random people grant you special privilege?”

Sawamura does his best to suppress his laughter as they walk past the generals. “Strange. Does it ever stop being strange?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I was born noble, but it’s always going to be a little strange if you think about it.”

They sit with Ukai and Kuroo around a circular table with a map of the continent. It’s different than the map they saw in Nekoma, more military based with less information on trading and the like, but just as detailed. He can see the mountains where he climbed, the forests he hunted in, the rivers he walked through.

Ushijima is present and nods when they meet eyes across the table. The others look at them with disdain. Iwaizumi, the traterious knight, marching against his king. Kuroo, a mage possessed with demons, the enemies of the gods they worship and hold above all else. Ukai, the grandson of the man that stopped their invasion into Nekoma in the Ten Year War. Then there is Princess Michimiya, a female ruler.

Luckily, Iwaizumi’s never much cared what others thought of him unless he was acting as a reflection of Oikawa. Those were the only times he cared.

Emperor Washijou is the last to arrive. He carries a small wooden chest and sits in a throne made of gems. Once seated, he opens the chest in front of him, pulling out dozens of colored wooden figurines meant to represent troops and forces.

“I know you’re going to ask so, yes, she may speak,” he says, looking at the princess, who silently bows her head in appreciation. “Let’s get on with this. What can you tell us about Aobajousai’s current military arrangements?”

“In total, Aobajousai has roughly thirty thousand trained soldiers,” Iwaizumi answers. “The number of knights is much lower. Somewhere around five hundred, maybe.”

“King Oikawa took fifteen thousand soldiers and half the knights when he marched into Karasuno,” Kuroo adds. As he talks, Washijou takes a long wooden stick with a flat and end moves pieces into place on the map. “He’s remained in Miyagi since. The numbers are roughly the same even with casualties. Karasuno’s army had a total of fifteen thousand soldiers, but they didn’t have time to bring all the soldiers to the capital. Aobajousai outnumbered Karasuno three to one.”

“Why hasn’t he left Miyagi?” Ukai asks. “Why not take Datetech, or Nekoma?”

“The Grand King is obsessed with eradicating all structure,” Kuroo says. “He wants Princess Michimiya dead before he leaves Karasuno to take another kingdom. He also wants to slowly break Karasuno’s spirit. He’s ruling, but he’s cruel—increasing taxes and forcing villages that can't pay to pay with children, publicly torturing and executing dissenters in gruesome ways, separating families by forcing men to do meaningless hard labor… It’s an organized chaos.”

Iwaizumi’s first thought is to take an army of Shiratorizawa soldiers through Datetech and march straight towards Miyagi, if that’s where Oikawa is. But it’s far too simple. The soldiers that remain in Aobajousai could flank the army from the side as they approach.

Ushijima must think the same because he asks, “And the remaining fifteen thousand Aobajousai soldiers that didn’t march into Karasuno?”

“They’re split between what are known as the four Cardinal Forts and the capital, Seijoh,” Kuroo explains. He points to the four largest military forts in Aobajousai: one to the south, one to the north, one to the east, and one to the west. “He’s abandoned the smaller forts in favor of strengthening the Cardinal Forts. Of course, abandoning the smaller forts has let bandits run free. Villages are being abandoned in mass because people are tired of being robbed and raped."

   

“The Cardinal Forts were strategically placed to prevent a large military force from reaching the capital unnoticed,” Iwaizumi explains. “Traditionally, the patrol routes of soldiers at these forts are so long they last two weeks and pass by all smaller forts in the vicinity. It makes it nearly impossible for a large army to go unnoticed. If you want to bring down Aobajousai, you need to attack the Cardinal Forts before going to Seijoh, or your forces will be flanked and suffer high losses.”

“Each Cardinal Fort has nearly three thousand men and a couple of knights. The real problem is Seijoh.” Kuroo taps the capital in the mountains to the far north. “There’s three thousand men, at least two hundred knights, and it’s the under the control of the Riders.”

They’re alive, Iwaizumi thinks, a small stone of worry dissolving.

“The Riders helped me escape my cell,” Iwaizumi says. “Any chance they’ll just let us walk in and take the castle?”

“No,” Kuroo says glumly. “They’re under a spell, but it’s not a spell that uses our gods’ magic. It uses _their_ magic. It’s dark, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Any soldier that questions the king is either publicly executed or they suddenly stop questioning him. They act like mindless slaves afterwards. They talk, and eat, and sleep, but they don't feel pain and they don't question what they're told. They're act like themselves to an extent, but they're not themselves, not really."

Iwaizumi’s jaw shifts. To think of his men, his friends in that state hurts him to the core. He remembers encountering these enchanted soldiers back in Karasuno before they made it onto the boat to take them to Nekoma. Sawamura had sliced one's arm clean off and they kept fighting like it was nothing. He thinks of their dead, lifeless eyes and tries to picture the Riders like that, his heart aching. 

"You weren't the one casting the spell?" Sawamura asks. "I thought you were the strongest mage in Aobajousai."

"I was the most well trained mage, but no, I wasn't the one casting the spell. King Oikawa is. He never had magic before, but the demon inside him does. I have higher than normal magical abilities and even when I was possessed, I wasn't powerful enough to cast a spell like that. The Grand King possesses powers equal to that of the Colored Mages."

“Even in Karasuno, I’ve heard rumors of the Riders of Aobajousai,” Ukai comments, switching the topic. “Men who protected Oikawa when he was the prince led by the son of the greatest knight Aobajousai had ever seen. They haven’t made a big name for themselves because they’re young, but it’s a group of five formidable knights, right?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “You're right that they protected Oikawa, but they're not knights. They’re all commoners. And there was five for a few years, but now it's only four, if you don't count me."

“Four men should not be an issue,” Ushijima says calmly.

“Four men trained to be stronger than the Royal Guard that cannot feel pain,” Iwaizumi says, stressing how serious this may be. “No knight of Aobajousai besides me could ever defeat them and plenty tried to to get Oikawa’s respect. No ordinary soldier can take them down.”

“Every man can be defeated,” Princess Michimiya says wisely. “How will we reach Seijoh? Which forts will we attack first?”

“Only the Eastern Fort borders Shiratorizawa,” Sawamura points out, carefully studying the map on the table. “But it’s past the mountains.”

“There is a passage here,” one of the Shiratorizawa generals says, using a pointer to draw out the path through the forests south of Heaven’s Peak, through the mountains, and out into the forests in Aobajousai south of the Eastern Fort. “Our full army cannot pass through, but a smaller force of a few thousand should be able to. It leaves you in good position to attack the Eastern Fort.”

“Does Aobajousai know this path exists?” Ukai asks, looking at Iwaizumi and Kuroo.

Iwaizumi nods. “There’s a smaller fort in the forest where the path lets out to alert the Eastern Fort of any movement. Smugglers liked to use it in the past, or magical refugees as the Ten Year War began."

“But Kuroo said the smaller forts are abandoned,” Sawamura says.

Emperor Washijou uses his own wooden pointer to move two of the figurines from the edge of the map to the passage, indicating the number of forces. “Two thousand soldiers will travel along this mountain pass and take the Eastern Fort. Another force of three thousand led by General Saito will follow behind them and wait for confirmation that the fort has been taken. Then, they will travel the pass and join the initial vanguard.”

“Each fort has three thousand soldiers,” Kuroo reiterates. “You’ll be outnumbered and the enemy will have the advantage."

“If these two thousand fail, then the following three thousand will succeed, destroying what enemy force remains.”

“You’re willing to sacrifice two thousand men?” Sawamura asks.

“Yes,” Emperor Washijou says simply. “This a war, boy, not a game. Lives will be lost. Shiratorizawa has often debated attacking Aobajousai, but second to us, they have the strongest army on the continent. It was never wise to start a war with them. If we want to succeed now, we must be smart. Better to lose two thousand than send three, or four, or five, and have them be defeated in one fell swoop. The mage is right. The enemy will have the advantage. They know the territory and have the structure of the fort on their side.”

Sawamura clearly doesn’t seem happy about it and Iwaizumi gets where he’s coming from. Iwaizumi has never lived through a war, but he has seen battles. Battles that left many knights dead, many civilians without homes or means to live. It’s not easy. It shouldn’t be easy.

Emperor Washijou continues without pause, his voice unwavering and firm, leaving no room for even his most trusted advisors to question him, “Ushijima, you will command the vanguard force of two thousand.”

“I do not have that power,” Ushijima replies. “I am not a general.”

“You are now.”

Such a simple phrase, but it holds so much power. Generals are the highest ranked military officials, capable of leading large forces of soldiers. There are only a few in every military, a handful of people with incredible power and skill on and off the battlefield. Having seen Ushijima in battle, and how highly regarded he is even amongst the monks, Iwaizumi is not surprised.

Ushijima nods, no sign of joy or happiness showing on his face, just serious consideration. “May I request one hundred pegasus riders to join the two thousand foot soldiers?”

The pegasus riders, Iwaizumi remembers, are soldiers trained to fight Fukurodani changelings in the sky. In an empire without knights, pegasus riders and the warrior monks are the closest things. Highly trained on horseback and on pegasi, these soldiers are a force to be reckoned with. As a squire, Iwaizumi heard the knights of Aobajousai speak nothing but praise for the men. 

“What for?” someone asks.

“To scout ahead and to quickly relay our victory to the force behind us,” Ushijima explains, no hesitation, completely sure in their victory.

“Take Goshiki’s squad,” the emperor allows. “That’s seventy. Will that suffice?”

“That will be enough.”

“Once the Eastern Fort is conquered, the other forts will follow, and then Seijoh,” Emperor Washijou says. “Iwaizumi and the mage will travel with the vanguard to provide tactical insights into Aobajousai’s military. Meanwhile, another thirteen thousand soldiers will march through Datetech and wait for the moment we move to seize Miyagi. We will flank the city with forces returning from the conquered Seijoh to the north and the east from Datetech.”

“Nekoma has been arranging as many soldiers as they can to aide my plight,” Michimiya says. “I am aware there of the history between your empire and the kingdom of Nekoma, but will you allow Nekoma soldiers to join your forces in Datetech?”

“Mages fighting alongside our sacred warriors?” a man scoffs.

“I did not ask you for your opinion,” Michimiya says, a quick glance at them before looking at the emperor, waiting for his answer. Iwaizumi catches Sawamura grinning and can’t help but grin himself.

She’s growing, Iwaizumi thinks.

“I will write to King Nekomata,” Emperor Washijoh says begrudgingly. “However, I will not allow Ukai Ikkei to lead Nekoma’s forces. I have no tolerance for that man and his way of fighting. Besides, he has no formal affiliation to Nekoma other than his status as the king’s guest.”

Ukai says nothing, though Iwaizumi can see the tense lines in his neck as he clenches his jaw.

“While the armies march, you will stay here in the castle,” Washijoh says to Michimiya, who frowns at the statement. “We will arrange for a better guard so that another incident does not happen again. I assure you, you will be safe while this war goes on.”

“I will not sit in a castle while men march and fight on my behalf,” Michimiya interjects. “I cannot expect people to fight for a ruler they do not see. I must be there with them.”

“I agree with Emperor Washijoh," Ukai says. "You’d be safer in Shiratorizawa."

“Men that rule march with their armies,” she argues.

“You’re not a warrior,” Ukai replies. “We’ve been able to keep you safe this whole time because we’ve been a small group and have avoided detection. An army is a lot harder to miss. Having you on the front lines is a risk we can’t take.”

“I am not unguarded,” she says, looking to Sawamura. “I have my knight to protect me.”

Sawamura doesn't seem to know what to say, torn between pride at the title and the weight that comes with it. Protecting her over his comrades, over civilians and strangers, knowing that she is in danger every second she is alone. Iwaizumi always knew Oikawa was a warrior. He can't imagine the pressure of protecting someone who cannot protect themself. 

“A member of the pegasus riders could remain close to her and escort her to safety,” Ushijima adds reasonably.

“And what if the pegasus is shot down?” someone asks. “We cannot allow a woman on the battlefield.”

“Let her do what she wants,” Emperor Washijoh says dismissively. “Our goal is to rid King Oikawa of this demon and see peace returned. Whether or not she takes her throne is of no consequence to us.”

Michimiya meets his gaze. “Thank you, Emperor Washijoh.”

He slowly looks away from her. "On to the next order of business." 

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi sit together on one of their beds, three pieces of paper and familiar handing written on them. The three-paged letter brings news that the caravan they grew up in, traveled with until they became teenagers, safely reached Datetech. Their families are safe there. Rather, they were safe. Some of them had to be heroes and are now returning to Karasuno to transport refugees across the Karasuno-Datetech border. They've made contact with rebel army leaders, but say they are staying out of the fighting, only helping the people that cannot help themselves.

Tsukishima thinks it feels so strange to see his older brother’s handwriting again. He has never saved letters from his family or any other members of the caravan and has the sudden urge to. This war has him thinking in strange ways. What good will it do to have a piece of his hand writing if something happens to Akiteru? Will he forget to remember him if he doesn’t have his signature? Will he forget what he looks like? Why does that matter?

He shifts restlessly and Yamaguchi glances at him, but doesn’t say anything. Neither of them has said anything for some time when Yachi comes in without knocking. She realizes her error as the door swings shut behind her and stands stiff, covering her face with both hands, but Tsukishima can still see how red her ears are.

“Sorry!” she shrieks. "Are you decent?" 

Yamaguchi laughs. “You’re fine.”

She slowly removes her hands like she doesn’t believe him then lets out a sigh of relief. Without asking, she comes over and sits between them on the bed, a little closer to Yamaguchi than Tsukishima, and looks down at the letters.

“From Akiteru,” Yamaguchi tells her.

“Your big brother?” she asks, looking at Tsukishima, who nods. “So they’re still alive? That’s great! I know you guys were worried for a while…”

“It’s a huge relief,” Yamaguchi confirms. “It’s just, well, Tsuki and I were talking and we’re not sure what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re here because it was a job,” Tsukishima says bluntly. Yachi nods; she knows Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were akin to sell-swords for some time, traveling Karasuno and picking up jobs, though they often worked for the Ukai Mercenaries. “We were being paid. We still are being paid because I bug Ukai about it from time to time. But we didn’t sign up to be soldiers in a war.”

“But Princess Michimiya is fighting to get back her home, _your_ home!”

“And how exactly are we going to help her?” Tsukishima asks calmly, voice level. “By dying?”

“We’ve escorted the Princess safely to someone that can help her,” Yamaguchi says, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s not our job to help her anymore.”

“But she needs all the help she can get!” Yachi argues.

“So why does it have to be us?” Tsukishima asks. “There are plenty of idiots like Hinata that would give their lives for her. She has the strongest military on the continent backing her now, as well as Nekoma and Fukurodani, if you believe that sub-human king. Why do we have to help too?”

"Bokuto said they liked to be called changelings," Yachi says, then shakes her head. "That's not the point! There’s no reason to think you’ll die. But it is a war. What if you have to choose between protecting the princess and Yamaguchi? What if you make the wrong choice and it haunts you for the rest of your life? You’ll turn to alcohol or drugs, and I’ll find you years after the war in some ditch, sobbing their name…”

Tsukishima frowns. She always thinks of the worst outcomes when her thoughts spiral, but in a situation like this, it almost seems reasonable. His own mind is filled with things he would rather not admit these days, dreams of Yamaguchi and her injured during a battle gone wrong, even dreams of idiots like Hinata and that madman from Aobajousai being struck down. 

“Are you staying?” Yamaguchi asks her, clearly hesitant to know the answer. He reaches over into her lap and takes her hand in his. She has to be deep in thought because she doesn't even blush at Yamaguchi holding her hand, her body taking over and squeezing back without her consciousness freaking out over such a small thing. 

“I want to help her," Yachi declares. "I don’t know how to, but I want to. If that means facing something I don’t want to, then that’s what I’ll do!” She looks at Yamaguchi, speaking only to him. “If you leave, I’ll understand.”

Tsukishima can see the desire in his face, the thought clear as day. _I want to stay for you._

“We’re not a set pair,” Tsukishima says, gaining both their attention. “You can stay if you want.”

“I—” Yamaguchi swallows. “I need to think about it.”

Tsukishima looks to where their hands are still held together and fights the urge to shake his head and roll his eyes. He stands, putting the letter on his nightstand, deciding to keep it, and leaves them alone to talk.

When he walks out into the hallway, he walks straight into Kuroo, the two scrabbling and grabbing onto each other to avoid falling. They manage to stay upright, clinging to each other’s arms, Tsukishima releasing first, then Kuroo a few seconds after.

Tsukishima still does not like that the empire agreed to let him walk free, though it hasn’t caused any problems as of now. He would also begrudgingly agree that it is good for Kuroo, who now looks more human and less like the husk of a man. His bruises are gone, his breath no longer permanently smells of bloody vomit, and there is a brightness to his eyes at times. But there are still times when his arms have red scratches, when his eyes are dry from staying open for so long, when he falls like straw in the wind.

“The war meeting is done?” Tsukishima asks, though the answer is obvious.

Kuroo nods. “I’m sure Ukai’ll explain it to you all, but we’re basically going to take Aobajousai before we take Karasuno back. It’s going to be long and messy, but it’ll be better than a frontal attack on Miyagi.”

“I don’t know much about war, but won’t it be messy either way?”

“You know, know-it-alls aren’t usually well liked.”

“Usually?”

Kuroo smiles and places a hand over his heart. “You see, I too am a know-it-all, but I am very well liked."

Tsukishima huffs out in laughter.

Kuroo smiles, but only for a second. It quickly drops, his eyes flicking to the side over Tsukishima’s shoulder. Tsukishima looks, wondering if there is a guard approaching, but sees only an empty stretch of hallway. When he looks back, there is a tiredness on Kuroo’s face and an uneasy look to his eyes.

“There’s nothing there,” Tsukishima says quietly, far more kindly than he intended, though he didn't intend for it to be cruel either. Kuroo doesn't respond. "What do you see?"

"Kenma is down the hall, sitting on the floor with his knees tucked to his chest. He's playing with some puzzle he just got at the market. He's waiting for me to come out of a meeting. That thing is sitting beside him, mimicking Kenma's position, but it's looking at me, grinning with teeth from an animal. It wasn't here before, was it? This was before it found me. So why is it here?"

Tsukishima frowns, unsure what to do. He has dealt with Kuroo when he is waking from his sleep with a scream, or vomiting his lunch ten minutes after eating. He has seen him shake when it is hot and sweat when it is cold. He has never seen him like this, calm and poised, completely sure, almost sane. 

"We're not in Seijoh," Tsukishima says firmly, trying not to argue with this man who is clearly not as sane as he appears. "Kenma's not there. _Nothing_ is there."

Kuroo doesn't say anything, doesn't seem to process what Tsukishima is saying at all, lost in some other place, some other time. 

Tsukishima pauses then looks around. He sees no guards and hears no footsteps. He holds his hands up, palm up, and says, "Unmicel leoht."

A tiny, warm, glowing light appears in his palms like a firefly from the grassy plains of Karasuno. There, the lights from the bugs would flicker and dance. One of the first spells Tsukishima learned was to mimic their glow whether they went, finding endless amusement in it as a young child. Akiteru taught him the spell. Akiteru always wanted to be a mage, but he could never do more than basic spells. He gave all his books to Tsukishima, who learned for them both. He can’t cast complex magic without a staff and he is nowhere near as strong as Kuroo, let alone some fabled mage reborn like Kenma, but even he can manage this much.  

Kuroo’s eyes dart to the light and Tsukishima can both hear and see his gentle, long inhale. His chest expands slowly, his expression softening as he looks at the light.

“Orange,” Kuroo murmurs, though the light is closer to white.

"I was never in Seijoh," Tsukishima reasons. "I can't be there. You're smart enough to know that, right?"

Kuroo hesitates then nods. "I... I flashback, sometimes, when sounds or places remind me of somewhere else. It's like my memories are seeping into the present, but the memories are all messed up because of that thing."

There’s the sound of footsteps down the hall and Tsukishima claps his hands together, smothering the light, but Kuroo looks at his hands where it had just been like he can still see it.

“Thank you,” Kuroo says, looking at his face, not at some figment in the distance. “Magic soothes me. Your magic—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I should go see Kenma. The real Kenma, in this time, not from then."

Tsukishima steps out of his way and Kuroo walks down the hall where he saw something that was not there, not an ounce of fear in his step. Seeing him walk away makes Tsukishima feel like a coward.

Here is this man with figurative and quite literal demons doing his part, doing what he thinks is right. No one would fault him for running, for abandoning his kingdom and friends. What excuse does Tsukishima have besides fear?

Like Yachi before him, he opens the door without knocking. He sees Yamaguchi’s hands on Yachi’s jaw and her hands on his waist, their lips pressed together, and they don’t react to him at all, lost in their own world. He is not surprised in the least, only mildly disgusted because he thought of these two like siblings despite having an actual sibling, though they never thought of each other like that. 

He can still remember meeting her for the first time when they were kids when her parents were doing business with the caravan. He remembers Yamaguchi talking about her for days after, saying how pretty she was, and remembers how every time they met after that, Yamaguchi would still spend days talking about how pretty she was. Yamaguchi always thought she was very brave, too, adventurous in a way he thought he lacked. A traveling merchant, she has told them since they were young, can't be afraid of toil. Tsukishima thinks of her as a brave coward. Yamaguchi thinks of her as a wonderful woman. 

Tsukishima sighs, closes the door quietly, and decides he will tell Yamaguchi that he is staying later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people aren’t reading this story because it’s some great example of fantasy warfare so this is vastly simplified, but I still wanted to include some strategy/explanation for how the characters are moving in the following chapters.
> 
> And I don't say this enough, but thanks for all the support--comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. I don't reply to every comment (I usually only reply if I have something to say) but I read each one. Even if you're just quietly reading along, I really appreciate it!!


	24. Crystal Cave

The party held in Sendai to send off the soldiers is extravagant and loud. The emperor makes short appearance, sitting at a designated table with Princess Michimiya, who is courted by many and all are turned down politely. Men dance with their lovers to live music and eat their fill and drink more than their fill. Tsukishima is certain that half the soldiers marching tomorrow will be hungover. 

Tsukishima sits at a table with Yachi, Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Kageyama. For once in his life, he shares the same thoughts as known idiots Hinata and Kageyama, who make faces or go quiet every time Yachi and Yamaguchi so much as look at each other. Their relationship is fresh and sickeningly sweet, the two giggling and holding hands openly, and Tsukishima shares in the awkward silence with the idiots he usually can't stand. 

He searches out Kuroo in the massive crowd in those awkward moments, when looking at Yachi and Yamaguchi feels like intruding on something private, but sees not sign of the man. He sees no sign of Kenma, either, and clearly neither does Hinata, who keeps swinging his wildly from side to side. Tsukishima is hardly surprised the two are absent. The number of people seems too much for Kenma and even for Kuroo, who does not do well with loud noises these days.

When they begin to travel, the army is so large that no one notices when Akaashi quietly disappears. Well, disappears may be the wrong word since every night, Tsukishima sees the same rufous-legged owl sitting atop the tent shared by Princess Michimiya and Yachi. Its eyes track those that pass by and whenever Tsukishima meets its black gaze, he can picture the man grinning wickedly. Yachi seems convinced the king of Fukurodani will return like he promised. Tsukishima wonders when that will be, if it happens at all. 

They travel with relative ease, though their pace is slow with so many carriages carrying food and tents and other supplies. Still, they move faster than they had when returning to Sendai when Kuroo had been ill. Compared to that, lately, Kuroo has been well. He still has nightmares that cause him to wake up screaming, but they’re less frequent. They’re no less annoying, though. Tsukishima can hear him screaming from several tents away, his voice mangled and terrified in a way Tsukishima has no desire to understand. And, for some reason that is still beyond him, Tsukishima is sent for to calm him down.

Kuroo shares a tent with Kenma and Iwaizumi, and the scene is always the same when he walks in: Iwaizumi in some awkward position trying to calm down Kuroo with rational words that have no affect on irrational fear, and Kenma pushing back Kuroo’s sweat-damp hair like that is going to help anything. It isn’t until Tsukishima enters the tent and Kuroo sees him that he stops thrashing. Some nights even his presence does not help and they have to forcibly put him back to sleep with a spell, which leaves Kuroo groggy and fussy like a child in the morning.

Tsukishima doesn’t know why, but Kuroo calms down around him. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it.

But it happens anyways.

Today has been a good day for Kuroo and Tsukishima is hoping he can get a full night’s sleep for once. They’ll be crossing into Aobajousai soon and everyone will be on edge when they do. Anxiety festers in a camp this large where thousands of soldiers are in close quarters.

Tsukishima likes to think he is accustomed with traveling with a large group. He grew up in a caravan of skilled workes from blacksmiths and tailors to furriers and huntsmen. Usually it was a small group, no more than thirty or forty, though they did reach sixty or seventy several times depending on what they were doing and who was traveling with them. Still, that is a far cry from two thousand soldiers and a nearly equal number of horses.

Tsukishima shares a tent with several others—Yamaguchi, Hinata, and Kageyama—and he has a hard-enough time sleeping as is. His insomnia only gets worse when Hinata gets jittery or anxious. He doesn’t even get to complain to Yamaguchi, who sneaks off with Yachi most nights. Yamaguchi actually thinks he’s being subtle. Tsukishima finds it equally amusing and annoying.

Now, the massive camp is quiet with slumber. As Tsukishima returns to his tent to try and get some rest, he sees someone leaving Kuroo’s tent and lighting a torch in one of the fires. It’s too tall to be Kenma and too skinny to be Iwaizumi. Tsukishima looks around, doesn’t see anyone else, and sighs as he heads off after Kuroo.

He trails silently, following him through camp. When they reach the edge of camp, just a hundred feet or so from a thick forest, Tsukishima has had enough.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Tsukishima asks.

Kuroo stops and turns to face him. He looks more rested than usual. He had slept last night and today, there had been on incidents, no stopping because he’s vomiting or freaking out because he saw his shadow. Tsukishima just wanted one night, just _one_ , where he didn’t have to bother with Kuroo Tetsurou.

“There’s somewhere I need to go,” Kuroo replies.

Tsukishima’s scowl deepens. “You’re not supposed to go anywhere unattended. Where’s Kenma, or Iwaizumi?”

“Sleeping, like the rest of camp.”

“And you thought it would be okay for you to sneak off to go gods know where? How do I know you aren’t going to run off towards the Eastern Fort ahead of us and betray us?”

“You don’t. That’s why you should come with me, to keep an eye on me in case I betray you.”

He grins like this is all a joke, like there’s no way he could betray them, because he’s seemed to have forgotten that he was their enemy until recently. Just a few weeks ago, they were trying to kill one another without remorse. Who’s to say the demon won’t come back, or the demon isn’t truly gone, and the second they enter Aobajousai, Kuroo will betray them? Tsukishima feels like the only one who considers any of this.

“Fine,” Tsukishima grumbles, walking towards him. “Where is it we’re going?”

Kuroo nods to the forest.

The forests here are thick with no villages nearby to chop them thin for wood. The deeper they go, towards the nearby mountains, the trees gradually grow taller and wider. Tsukishima does not notice at first, but he is certain the trees are significantly larger here and he certainly sees more animals. He sees the light of flame of the torch catch on the eyes of several creatures. A raccoon, a deer, a few owls up in the sky. For some reason, he has the feeling they are not normal animals, or perhaps this is not a normal forest, but cannot explain this feeling. 

As they walk through the thickening trees, cold fat drops of water beginning to fall onto Tsukishima’s shoulders and head. He looks up through the clearing in the trees and sees no stars, the light rain falling freely onto his glasses in this small clearing without the trees to stop it.

“It’s raining,” Tsukishima grumbles unhappily.

Tsukishima tilts his head back down just in time to see Kuroo spin around, a childlike smile on his face, his arms stretched out.

“Don’t you feel alive when it rains?” Kuroo asks.

“I feel wet.”

Kuroo’s smile does not falter. He turns back around and continues to walk, not quickening his pace as the water falls through the trees onto them. The rain is not heavy enough to extinguish the torch Kuroo carries, so at least they can still see where they’re going. Or perhaps he’s enchanted it in some way. Tsukishima remembers reading that fire spells are not so easily put out by water.

Kuroo, for his many, many faults, is a skilled mage but a more knowledgeable scholar. If Tsukishima didn’t have his pride and common sense, he would have asked Kuroo to teach him. 

They do not reach the mountains that stand opposite the forest, but they reach several rocky alcoves. Kuroo looks at the trees for something, turning up moss covered rocks and looking around. Tsukishima wonders if he is looking at ghosts.

Soon, though, they find a cave embedded into a rocky wall, the entrance hardly noticeable.

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Kuroo asks, looking over his shoulder. His concern sounds genuine.

“No, I’m not.”

Then, Kuroo steps into the cave, the torch lighting his way.

Tsukishima follows him, slightly on edge, prepared in case Kuroo plans to attack him and leave him where no one will find him. He has been given no reason to trust him other than he is suddenly not possessed. Regular, non-possessed people still do terrible things and Tsukishima knows first-hand that Kuroo’s mind is not all there.

They descend into the depths of the cave, nothing but the cold dirt walls around them. There are leafy vines at the entrance. The vines go on and on, growing into the dark where they should not grow, and Tsukishima understands this is not a normal place. The trees outside had not been normal, nor had the abundance of animals. Something is here, though Tsukishima does not know what.

The tunnel continues to stretch, seemingly endless in front of them.

“What is this place?” Tsukishima finally asks after a few minutes of walking.

“A place forgotten by man, remembered only by parchment.”

Because _that_ helps.

“Books,” Kuroo clarifies. “Really, really old books. When I was still an apprentice, I read every book in the royal library and then some. In the highest tower were the oldest books, the most precious ones. One of them talked about a cave around here.”

The further they walk, the thicker the vines grow, which is counterintuitive and Tsukishima wonders if they’ve somehow got turned around until crystals begin to appear. Small, rough things at first that turn into larger protrusions, almost like roots. White crystals covered in mineralization, sparkling from the light of the torch, and they almost look like stars in the far off, never ending dark of the tunnel.

But it is not never ending. All of the sudden, the tunnel expands into an enormous cave. All along the walls, there are giant milky white crystals. In the center is the largest crystal, branching out like a living tree. Tsukishima can hardly breathe it’s so gorgeous. He's never seen anything like it. He doesn't think he'll see anything like it again. 

The moment is ruined when Kuroo speaks. “I can sense magic. It’s a rare gift. Not even Kenma can do it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tsukishima says, unimpressed. “It doesn’t seem like something worth bragging about.”

Being born with a gift does not make you special. Being born a noble or a royal may grant you privilege, but you are still a human. You will die and rot like all other humans. Noble, royal, mage—they’re all the same in the end.

Kuroo looks at him, his expression so surprisingly gentle that Tsukishima almost thinks there is no ulterior motive in it. Almost. Kuroo may no longer be possessed by a demon, but he is still a cunning man. He always seems to be thinking of something.

“Kenma’s magic is bright white like the light from the sun. Yours is warm and soft like the flickering orange flame of a candle. It’s soothing. It makes me feel…” Kuroo trails off, smiling.  

Tsukishima looks at him, unsure what to say to that. Most people call Tsukishima abrasive and he wouldn’t disagree with that descriptor. But soothing? That’s a first. It almost sounds like a joke. It probably is one.

“And this place?” Kuroo says, hands thrown to the sides and an even wider smile on his face. “This place is of magic itself.”

Tsukishima looks around the cave. Sure, it’s gorgeous, like it belongs in another world, but it doesn’t feel magical. It feels old, untouched, but not magical. Then again, Tsukishima doesn’t really know what magic feels like. He knows what it looks like, but how does it feel? He’s never thought about how he felt casting a spell, or receiving a spell, probably because it doesn’t feel like anything.

Kuroo walks over to one of the crystals and runs his hand down it. “They say a god of the earth lived here long ago, that their magic still lingers. They took on the form of a giant mole and dug these caverns. It must be true because I can feel it. I could feel and see it outside, but here it's so strong and concentrated."

Curiosity gets the best of Tsukishima and he asks, “What does it feel like, then?”

“It feels powerful, but also safe. I feel like I could rest my head here and no harm would come to me, like something is watching over me. It feels like a mix of colors.”

“Colors?”

“To me, magic has colors. Kenma’s is white, yours is orange, and this place is _everything_.” Kuroo tilts his head back and looks up at the cave ceiling where the tree-like crystal reaches. Tsukishima sees nothing but crystals, but Kuroo’s eyes are wide with wonder. “Can’t you see it? It’s beautiful.”

Tsukishima almost wishes he could.

“I think I see a crazy person.”

Kuroo grins and lowers his head. “I didn’t come here to feel this place. I came here for a reason.”

“You’re being very specific,” Tsukishima replies sarcastically.

Kuroo laughs. Tsukishima has never heard him laugh and for some reason, he wants to hear it again.

“Sugawara saved my life even though he didn’t know me and I was his enemy,” Kuroo says as he walks deeper into the large opening, waving the torch in front of him so he can watch his step. Tsukishima carefully follows. “The crystal on his staff broke when he saved me and he wasn’t able to find a replacement in Sendai because the use of magic is punishable by death. I thought I could find a replacement crystal here.”

Kuroo looks over his shoulder at him and grins. “Surprised I have a heart?”

“Yes,” Tsukishima says, trying not to grin himself.

The air is so fresh, like they’re outside in a field of wildflowers, not deep in the dirt. Kuroo touches the massive crystal in the center of the cave gently. He sets the torch on the ground and holds out his hands, chanting in a language Tsukishima knows, the language of the old gods.

Then, a chunk of crystal the size of his fist breaks off. Kuroo holds it gently, studying it, and says a spell Tsukishima recognizes. Sugawara has said it dozens of times to fix their minor cuts and nicks.

“You know healing magic?” Tsukishima asks.

“A bit. I’m more well-versed in elemental magic, but I was trained in both disciplines. It’s hard to be good at both. Even Kenma struggles with healing magic. The Blue Mage is the only one who can do both elemental magic and healing magic with ease… I can at least check this stone’s ability.”

Seemingly happy with the crystal, Kuroo puts it into his pocket then picks up his torch.

Tsukishima almost doesn’t want to leave this place. He suddenly understands what Kuroo meant by feeling safe here. Tsukishima does not know if he believes a god lived here, but something did, something strong, something that lingers on even after it left. It may as well be a god.

He breathes in deeply, doesn’t let his feelings overcome him, and follows Kuroo out of the cave.

When they make it back to camp, Tsukishima accompanies Kuroo back to his tent, where he extinguishes the torch.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Kuroo says. He holds the crystal up. “Sugawara will thank you too.”

“Why would you thank me? I only followed you because I was suspicious. I don’t trust you.”

“I know you don’t. But I don't really care. I know what is real and what isn’t when you’re near me. Also, you don’t treat me like I’m broken. We give each other shit and it’s fun. It feels normal.” His voice goes quiet, softer, “I think I could use normal after all of this.”

Tsukishima does not know what to say so he says nothing at all.

“Good night, Tsuki.”

“Good night, Kuroo. Please don’t wake up screaming. It’s annoying and I’m tired.”

Kuroo laughs and Tsukishima has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cut a chapter that was supposed to exist between "Strategy" and this chapter. The chapter count isn't going down, I'm just adding another chapter later instead to help fill in some plot-related details. 
> 
> I mentioned that the Blue Mage of the eight Colored Mages can do both healing and elemental magic. Each Colored Mage has some special ability.
> 
> \-- The Red Mage (Nekomata) has special skills relating to fire.  
> \-- The Orange Mage is a powerful empath and telepath capable of entering a person’s mind, memories, and dreams. I seriously considered making Tsukishima the Orange Mage to go into Kuroo’s broken mind (though he wouldn't have known he was the Orange Mage), but decided against it in the end.  
> \-- The Yellow Mage is the strongest healer in the world, able to cure any aliment, even death, though it comes at the cost of their own life.  
> \-- The Green Mage can transform into animals (some mages can transform into a single animal, but the Green Mage can take the form of any animal without casting a spell). Way back in “The White Mage” the Green Mage is mentioned to be in Nohebi, which is a empire to the west. The Green Mage is Daishou, who prefers to transform into snakes.  
> \-- Like I said, the Blue Mage can do both healing and elemental magic with ease, which does not sound particularly powerful compared to some of these other Colored Mages but is really quite the feat in this universe.  
> \-- The Purple Mage can give prophecies. I actually thought of including the Purple Mage in this story because it fits into the lore/history of Shiratorizawa and the Ten Year War. I might do a small side story on the current Purple Mage, Tendou.  
> \-- The Black Mage can control and conjure storms. I thought of making Kuroo the Black Mage especially since he has a special ability (I could have easily been like “oh wait Black Mage’s ability is to sense magic”) but I just really didn’t like the idea. I like the idea of Kuroo being a scholar who studies and practices magic more than I like the idea of him being an OP mage. The current Black Mage is in Niiyama, which is a kingdom I don't think I ever mention in this fic.  
> \-- The White Mage is born knowing all the magic in the world, including spells that have yet to be discovered and spells that are lost to history. There’re a few bits of Kenma’s dialogue that were based on this. He doesn't know the demons' magic, though. Kuroo mentions the demons spoke in a language he didn't know. That magic is foreign to the White Mage as it is not the gods' magic used by mages.


	25. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit M/F sexual content.

Sawamura still hasn’t adjusted to having so many soldiers travel with them. There’s a whole part of camp dedicated to feeding horses and another smaller section dedicated to pegasi, who like to spit at you from ten feet away. The campsite is now massive and more than once he gets lost on his way to his tent. He does not have the luxury of his own tent—few do—but he shares a very small space with Ukai, Sugawara, and Azumane, so at least the faces are familiar. He’s also not used to random people calling him Lord or Sir; he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to that.

He passes by several campfires, men huddled around them drinking and laughing, some singing songs. They crossed into Aobajousai today, though the land hardly looks any different to Sawamura, who wonders how such arbitrary borders are determined. The land is the same everywhere. The trees, the soil, the water—it’s all the same, but the name of the land is different, the people are different, the rulers are different. How can something be the same but so different?

He wonders how Michimiya is feeling having passed into enemy territory. He decides to stop by her tent before stopping by his own to make sure she’s okay.

The tent she shares with Yachi is in the middle of camp and is larger than the rest, the entrance shut by thick curtains of fabric. There are guards nearby, not directly outside the entrance, providing the women with some privacy. It’s hard enough for men to find privacy in a camp like this, let alone the only two women traveling with them. Shiratoriawa truly believes women do not belong at battle, even to tend to wounds after.

“Princess?” he calls out, not quite shouting but he thinks he's being loud enough.

When he doesn’t get a response, he moves the curtain aside, poking his head inside to see if she’s just asleep. The tent the princess occupies is, as expected, more extravagant than any other at the campsite. There’s a whole wagon dedicated to carrying the tent and its content. There are rugs on the grass, two mattresses with soft blankets and more pillows than anyone could possibly need, and several small pieces of furniture. There’s a room divider to change behind and a few tables, most with oil lanterns that glow a soft yellow inside the tent.

Neither of the beds is occupied and he doesn’t see anyone. He decides to walk inside and see if he can find a quill and paper to leave a note to let her know she is free to visit his tent if she wants to talk, but he accidentally kicks a table with a metal pitcher. The pitcher rolls to the ground and spells red wine over one of the rugs placed over the grass.

“Oh, thank _gods_ ,” Michimiya says, sounding very relieved for some reason. “I thought you were gone for the night and I’ve been struggling with this corset for ages.”

I’ve? She never uses contractions around him, not unless she’s upset. And where is she?

Sawamura’s brain is still processing why she’s talking about a corset when she walks out from the other side of the room divider with her head tilted down.

He doesn’t look away fast enough to avoid seeing her. She’s barefoot and naked except for her undergarments, a tan corset and loose white shorts that rest on her hips. The shorts are thin as air and he can see the small mass of dark hair between her legs. He’s never seen so much of her skin before that’s he’s startled by how smooth and flawless it looks in the gentle light of the lanterns.

He quickly turns his head as far to the side as it will go because if he doesn’t, he’s just going to keep looking, even though it’s wrong and he shouldn’t have seen her like that in the first place. Blood is already swirling hot in his body from that brief look. He wants to see more. He wants to touch her.

Michimiya looks up, sees him, and shrieks, “You’re not Yachi!”

“No, I’m not!”

She fumbles, knocking something over and he looks to make sure it isn’t a lantern.

“Sawamura!” she shouts at him as she grabs the first piece of clothing she can find, a thin slip she must wear under her dresses.

He curses and looks away, this time covering his eyes with one of his hands.

He can practically hear the blood rushing to two places: hers to her face and his down between his legs. He hates himself for it. Gods, what is wrong with him? This is the _princess_. Even if she wasn’t the princess, he wouldn’t let himself look.

“I can go get Yachi?” Sawamura suggests nervously.

Michimiya sighs. “There is no need. I saw her walking into the forest with Yamaguchi earlier. She is likely busy enjoying herself.”

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” he says honestly.

“You do not know how close they are, do you? She will not be back until sunrise.”

“Oh,” Sawamura says dumbly. “Maybe she would mind, then.”

She laughs for the briefest of moments. “Besides, she does not exist to wait on me day and night. She is free to do what she wants.”

But there are no other women at camp, he thinks.

“I hate to ask this,” she says and he needs to leave now because he knows from the tone of her voice what she’s going to ask and he isn’t going to be able to say no because he is a weak man, “but would you mind helping me?”

Shit.

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” he says, one last attempt to leave.

“It’s just strings,” she says and he can hear the teasing grin in her voice.

He sighs. “Alright. Let me know when I can look.”

There’s a moment of pause and a ruffle of fabric as she drops the piece of clothing she had grabbed to cover herself.

“You may look.”

He slowly removes his hand and turns his head to look at her. She has her back to him, her arms clasped in front of her chest where he cannot see. Michimiya herself is not tall, but her legs seem long. Maybe it’s just because he’s only ever seen her in long dresses or pants. Now, with her thin, loose white shorts that only come halfway down her thigh, all he can do is stare at her legs. Pale skin glowing in the faint light of the lantern, gentle curves and soft fat and harder angles mixing together in a way that breaks him.

She looks over her shoulder at him, her face flushed, and says, “You need to loosen the strings enough so that you can pull it over my head.”

He has to take it off her too?

“No problem,” he says, sounding more collected than he feels. He takes the axe off his back and sets it to the side, not wanting it to get in the way.

She turns her head back around, staring at the wall of her tent. He can see her shoulders as she takes slow, measured breaths to calm herself down.

Could she want him the way he wants her? he thinks. No. She isn’t nervous for the same reason, he reprimands himself. She is embarrassed because she is a princess and she is exposed in front of him. She must feel vulnerable as a nearly naked woman with a mercenary walking towards her unguarded back. She is definitely not aroused like he is.

He gently touches her shoulder to let her know he’s behind her then lightly trails his fingers down her bare skin to the top of the corset. She shivers beneath his fingers, laughing softly at her own reaction to the touch. Her skin is warm beneath his fingers and he swallows thickly as he brings his other hand to join the first at the top edge of the fabric.

It doesn’t look like a usual corset, not that Sawamura has many points of reference. He thought corsets sat on the waist to give women a deeper curve, but Michimiya sits right under her armpits and only comes down as far as her ribs. It’s still tied just as tightly as a regular corset, though, and it must be incredibly awkward to reach that high up on her back to undo it herself.

He frowns deeply in concentration as he starts loosening the corset from the top down. It’s so damn tight. Did Yachi do this up for her this morning? How did Yachi manage to make something so tight? How can Michimiya even breathe in this thing?

He thinks of what Michimiya wore today. It was one of her outfits from Shiratorizawa with the higher collar, flat chest like a well-fit tunic on a man, and long sleeves tailored to her arms. Sawamura thought it was a solid black until they stopped for lunch and he sat next to her and realized it was decorated with intricate black lace.

Almost all of her dresses from Shiratorizawa are masculine and her chest from the front and side is completely flat in all of them. She never looks like she’s wearing a corset at all.

“Feel free to hit me if it’s rude to ask this, but don’t corsets make things, um, _bigger_?” he asks hesitantly, his frown deepening.

She gasps as he tugs hard on the next row and he hopes it’s a gasp of relief and not pain.

“I had never seen a corset like this before we reached Shiratorizawa either. The royal tailor explained that noblewomen are taken more seriously by their male colleagues in the empire when they appear more masculine. This corset is designed to bind a woman’s breasts so her chest appears flat. It is a symbol of status to them.”

He remembers the first time he saw her in a Shiratorizawa-styled dress. Yachi had been given a dress as well, but the style had been completely different. Yachi’s dress had flowed, very feminine in nature, and her upper chest had been exposed. It was nothing like Michimiya’s dress, which radiated with power. Did he think it was powerful because she appeared more masculine, or was it because she was the one wearing the dress? He never thought about why she seemed so strong in those dresses. 

“You shouldn’t have to dress like a man to be respected,” Sawamura says as he finishes the last few rows.

“Even the best kingdoms have issues with powerful women. In Karasuno, if there is a queen, the court will without a doubt be all men. Women cannot take the throne in Aobajousai or Shiratorizawa. While Nekoma welcomes female leaders, tribes never put forward a female candidate. If they did, they would surely lose based on the fact that they are a woman, regardless of whether or not they are competent.”

The laces loose, Sawamura tugs apart the two edges of the corset, the modesty panel moving to reveal another strip of bare skin running straight down her spine that he can't stop staring at. She curves there in a way his eyes are drawn to, wanting to run his fingers down her back and feel her shiver again.

She raises her arms straight above her head and he hesitates for a second before grabbing the top of the corset and pulling upwards. It’s still tight enough to snag on her skin but he tugs even harder and it budges a few inches. Once it’s over her shoulders, it slides off with ease.

He drops the corset as she lowers her arms, resting them in front of her to cover her breasts though he can’t see her front. There is no mirror and he does not expect her to turn around and bare herself in front of him. On her naked back, he can see the deep indentations left by the corset in her skin. He runs his fingers over them and for a moment, he thinks he feels her press back into his hand.

“This looks painful,” he says with a scowl. He rests his palm flat against her side over a violently red, perfectly straight line dug into her body right where her torso starts to curve around. If he moved his fingers just a bit further, he could feel the edge of her breast. “Is it really worth it just to wear those dresses?”

“They grant me more respect,” she says with a resigned sigh.

“Like I said, you really shouldn’t have to dress like a man to be respected.”

Her muscles tense under his hand. “You say that, yet your word and Ukai’s word overrule my own in meetings with the generals. I have no say in the path we take, or the formations we ride in. I know I am soft spoken, and maybe that is why you think my opinion should not be trusted, but my soft spoken-ness has been my strength. If I had not been a woman, Emperor Washijou may not have heard my plea. I would have been the prince of a fallen kingdom and while tragic, why would he help? How would it benefit him? But to help a princess? A soft spoken, _weak_ ruler who will one day owe him an invaluable favor?”

She scoffs, like this should be obvious.

He removes his hand from her waist and she moves instantly, pivoting to face him. She tilts her head back to look up at him, but he cannot look at her. Her arms are at her side now, her breasts bare, her gaze stubborn and angry and proud. He stares to the side, his own gaze steady and straight, his heart pounding as his mind tells him to turn his head, to just look, to see if she's as beautiful naked as he's imagined in his weaker moments. 

“I was not stuck in a tower sewing or braiding my hair. I was the sole child of the king and I was taught how to rule. I was taught tactics and strategies from the best minds in the kingdom, yet you do not trust my opinion on any topic, no matter how simple or irrelevant. Why is that, Sawamura? You won’t even look at me like this! Why do you feel the need to protect my body, my _modesty_? You don’t act this way around naked men.”

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand to her chest and he suddenly cannot breathe. His hand curls around her breast, her nipple hard against his palm, and he can feel his cock growing hard in his pants. His blood runs fast and hot, his chest tight with desire. 

“I am a woman,” she states, her gaze burning like wildfire, “and I will be your queen. Can you accept that or not?”

He pulls his arm back, breaking her hold, and looks away again.

“It’s not about protecting your modesty, or anything else that you said,” he says, desperately wishing they were not having this conversation. He wishes he could lie to her, but he cannot. He wishes he could leave, but he cannot. “You can do what you want. Dress how you want. It won’t change how I think about you.”

“Would you look at me if I was a man?” she demands.

He rubs his face hard with his hand. She reaches up, grasping his hand with both of hers, her fingers small but warm in his palm. He turns and looks. Gods, does he look. Her breasts are round and her stomach pushes out just barely near the bottom with fat and her body curves beneath her ribs to make her hips seem wider than they do when clothed. She's so damn beautiful.

“Would you trust me more if I was a man?” she asks, her voice quieter, sadder, like the idea hurts her.  

“No. I trust you with my life."

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because if I look at you, I’ll want to touch you. Woman or man, princess or commoner, I will want to touch you. And that’s why I can’t look at you when you’re like this.”

There is a moment of silence. He thinks she'll kick him out, maybe even revoke his lordship and knighthood. But then, she pushes herself up on balls of her feet. She's so much shorter than him that they still aren't the same height, her lips so close to his jaw, her eyes on his lips.

“If you want to touch me," she says, voice a whisper, "then touch me.”

Without thinking of the consequences, he wraps an arm around her middle and leans down as he pulls her up to reach her beautiful lips to kiss her like he has wanted to for ages. He has her on the tips of her toes, her feet nearly off the ground, her spine bent backward as he leans forward and loses himself in her close embrace. Her arms wrap loosely around his neck, her nails sharp against his skull, her lips soft as cotton and as sweet as wine.

He has never felt so much from just a single kiss. A fire blooms in his chest, its warmth spreading outward as his heart pounds and his stomach twists. Her body is pressed against him completely, pressure everywhere, and he wishes he were naked to feel her against him. He wants to feel her skin against his, wants to touch every inch of her body with his hands. He wants to feel her shiver and hear her gasp and see her flush red. 

He rests both his hands on her waist, feeling her chest rise and fall as their lips meet again and again, each kiss fiercer than the last, breath more ragged and lips more desperate. He traces the curve of her bare spine with his hands until they reach the small of her back. There, his fingers brush against the waistband of her shorts. She moans against his lips and he doesn't think it's in protest. 

“Are you sure Yachi won’t be coming back?” Sawamura asks, fingers dipping underneath the fabric for a brief second.

She drags her lips across his cheek, panting against his skin. “I’m certain. Please, Sawamura..."

At the same time that he nudges her head back to kiss the column of her throat, he slides his hands down the curve of her ass overtop of her shorts. He cups her ass in his hands just as his lips touch her neck and she sighs happily. Her body fits perfectly in his hands, like it was meant to be held by him, and he thinks of how easily he could lift her, maneuver her to the positions he wanted. He can't help but squeeze her flesh and pull her closer, but she can't be any closer. Despite that, he still wants more. He will always want more.

Without moving his hands, he lifts her with ease, her weight nothing to him. Her legs wrap around his waist and he groans at her weight against him. He can feel the heat of her body against him. She kisses his mouth, her lips easily opened and tongue sure in its movements.

He never wants to stop kissing her, but he does not know what where her bed is. When he turns his head, her lips move to his neck, her tongue a teasing flicker against his skin. He looks around and sees two feather mattresses on the floor, one slightly larger than the other with more decorative pillows and blankets, and decides the more extravagant bed is her own.

He carries her and slowly drops to his knees, never once letting her thighs fall from his hips until he is ready to spread her on her back beneath him. She cards her hands through his hair when her back hits the soft blankets, tugging his head towards her to kiss him again.

He kisses her briefly, a mere brush of the lips. “Just a moment,” he says, not sure how he can still form a logical thought with her like this.

He sits back on his heels and looks at her. Her breasts fall to the side when she is on her back and she spreads her legs slightly so that he can sit between them. He wants to lean down and cup and kiss her breasts, wants to feel if her stomach is as soft as it looks, wants to feel the gentle curve of her waist. He's never seen someone as beautiful as her.

Then he remembers why he pulled back. He strips off his tunic, then shifts to take off his boots, leaving him in only his pants. She watches him carefully, her gaze heavy with arousal and desire, and Sawamura has never thought of himself as an attractive man until the moment her eyes scan his scarred chest like she wants nothing more than to touch him.

He spreads out over her, his body resting between her legs, his elbows bracketing her head and his lips on her cheek. He's so much larger than her in height and muscle mass that he envelopes her completely. Her hands run over the bare skin of his back, lingering on his shoulder blades so she can feel his muscles shift every time he moves to kiss another part of her. 

“Sawamura,” she gasps, tossing her head back as he kisses down the column of her neck to her chest.

He cups her breast gently in his hand and brings his mouth down around her, stroking her nipple with slow swipes of his tongue, feeling it harden against his tongue. She threads a hand into his hair and hums, not quite a moan but a small, pleased sound that encourages him. He wants to see her skin flush red, wants to feel the way her chest heaves with pleasure. Gods, he wants to make her come and hear how she sounds, want to know what color her skin turns.

He tries different movements, trying to see what feels good for her, but doesn’t get more than those tiny hums. He rubs his other hand up and down her ribs, feeling her shake, and he’s tempted to tickle her but fears she may hit him over the head with a pillow if he does. He almost does it despite that. 

“Lower,” she says suddenly, gently pushing at the top of his head.

He complies, releasing her breast and pressing kisses lightly down her fluttering stomach until he reaches the waistband of her shorts. He kisses her stomach as he rolls the thin white fabric down her hips, eyes flicking up to watch her expression. She plants her feet on the bed and lifts her hips up so that he can remove them completely, tossing them to the side without a second thought. For some reason, that makes her laugh, her smile lingering as she watches him.

He lies down on his stomach between her legs and she places one of her thighs on his shoulder, the other splayed to the side. The hair between her legs is dark and her scent is so strong he can smell her from here. He wants to bury his face into her, etch the scent into his lungs and memories, but he does not want to rush. He wants her to enjoy this, wants to make it good for her.

He kisses the thigh on his shoulder, kissing up her inner thigh and moving his body up along the mattress until he can easily get his mouth to her cunt. He kisses her slowly between her folds, wanting to savor the first time he tastes her on his tongue, as sharp and musky as she smells. She tastes so damn good.

“Yes,” she murmurs in encouragement, hips shifting. “Sawamura, please.”

He’s never done this before, but he has a vague idea of what to do. He’s heard other men talk about it, some more proudly than others, some saying it’s demeaning for a man to do this to a woman. Sawamura doesn’t understand that line of thinking. If you expect a woman to put her mouth on you, shouldn’t you do the same for her?

He hooks one arm under her thigh to rest his hand on her stomach and uses his other hand to spread her lips apart. He licks at the length of her with long, slow strokes with the flat of his tongue and watches her reaction to see where she’s most sensitive. She keeps making that same, vague pleasant sound. He wants to her moan in pleasure, not hum quietly. He wants to feel her thighs shake, wants to be the reason they do, wants to see if she tastes even better after she comes. 

He focuses his efforts on her clit, alternating between kissing her loose and wet and working his tongue in short, quick movements. It is not an instantaneous reaction, but a slow one. Her breath grows louder until she’s panting with every breath. Her hips are still until they jerk upwards towards his mouth. He presses his hand down on her stomach to hold her still where he wants her.

“Gods, _yes_ ,” she gasps, head thrown back as she rocks down against his face in small movements. Fuck, he never knew she could sound like that, that anyone could sound like that, so damn hot and perfect. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Never, he wants to respond, but he doesn't want to stop for a second. He does not relent, his nose deep in her hair and chin slick with her growing wetness, lungs aching for breath. He couldn’t move if he wanted to, not when her hands slide into his hair his hair and push his face against her. Each moan from her lips sends a rush of blood to his cock and he fights off the urge to rut down against the bed, wanting to focus on her instead.

Her back arches when she comes with his name on her lips, her hands tightening in his hair then loosening as her legs splay open. He pulls back, his chin and jaw soaked, and licks his lips as he watches her chest rise and fall. Rose red blooms across her chest and her eyes are as dark as the night sky, and he thinks that this has to be a dream.

"You're gorgeous," he says reverently.

She laughs, body loose and soft with her orgasm. He wipes her slick away from his lips as he best he can with the back of his hand then leans down over her to kiss her on the mouth. She doesn't push him away. He wonders if she can taste herself, if she thinks she tastes as good as he does.

Between their bodies, her hands run down his chest to the tops of his pants and further still. She rubs at the front where his cock is visibly straining and instinctively he grinds against her palm to get some kind of friction only to regret it, to feel selfish.

“You don’t have to,” he insists, the words said against her cheek.

She begins to sit up so he does as well. She leans down just to kiss back up his chest, her fingers trailing alongside her lips, until she reaches his jaw. Her hands curl around to the back of his neck, holding him gently.

“Woman or man, prince or commoner,” she murmurs against his jaw, and then against his lips, “I will want to touch you.”

He laughs in recognition.

“Sawamura," she says slowly, carefully. "I want to give you pleasure, but I cannot risk having a child out of wedlock. Women die during pregnancy and labor, and if my child has no right to the throne, this is all for naught. You cannot—we cannot—"

He holds her face in his hands, tilting her head back to meet her gaze. There's a heavy worry in her eyes and he wonders how many times she's thought of this, if she has at all. Has she thought of holding him before? Has she thought of him the way he has of her? Has she held herself back out of that fear that he would force her, or they wouldn't be able to control themselves?

“I know,” he reassures her. “And I will never force you. I will take whatever you give me, even if that is nothing at all.”

“I want to give you this.”

Her expression is soft and open, meaning he can see her hesitation as she once more reaches down to the waist of his pants. He helps her undo the belt then slides his pants and undergarments off together, kicking them to the side. She bites her lip when she looks at him, achingly hard against his thigh, dark and heavy with arousal. He can still taste her on his tongue and just the thought of that makes him throb.

She slowly reaches out for him, touching the head and then the shaft, her fingers exploring before she wraps her hand around him. That light, hesitant touch has him gasping, hips thrusting up against her hand to seek out more. He holds her at the waist, panting as she touches him and leaning down to kiss her neck.

She squeezes a bit too tight and tugs, the stroke rough with friction. He hisses and she pulls back.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, hands clutched nervously to her chest.

“It’s okay. Let me see you palm.”

She holds out her hand, palm up, and he brings it to his mouth. He closes his eyes and slowly kisses and licks her palm until it’s slick with thick spit. When he’s done, he moves down to kiss her wrist, then leads her hand back to his cock. She hesitantly wraps her fingers around him and strokes.

“Better?” she asks.

“Much better,” he assures with a groan.

She leans forward and kisses him on the mouth as she works him, gaining confidence. Soon her grip is tighter and she tries different things, like stopping to tease the base or the head. He moans when her thumb rubs the slick head and she repeats that often, smiling every time, like each moan he makes is a personal victory for her.

Then, she twists her wrist and he moans loudly. She tests the motion again and he nods, his brows pinching together in a mix of lust and concentration. He doesn’t want to come too early and make a fool of himself, but she seems determined to make him a fool. He’s never had another hand on him before and it’s not quite how he touches himself, but it’s far better than the best grip with his own hand.

She kisses just beneath his jaw, her lips dry and teasing, and he melts for her.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he tells her, panting heavily, eyes twisted shut. 

His body tenses in the best of ways and he reaches down to quicken her stroke, wrapping his hand over hers, and comes when her lips brush his cheek. He’s never felt anything like this, never felt this heat or this mind-numbing tightness that feels like it’s exploding when he comes.

She strokes him through it until he’s spent and he pries her hand off. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees her staring at her, like she wanted the memorize the face he makes when he comes. He smiles when he meets her gaze, happy to see that she returns it with a dazzling smile of her own.

With his clean hand, he reaches down between her legs and rubs at her. She’s still wet and hot, and he wonders if she can come again. He’s heard that women can come again more quickly than men can. He wants to watch her face this time, if he can.

“Can I?” he asks, slowly rubbing his thumb along her wet cunt. Her body jerks at the touch. Then she makes one of those low, pleasant hums and nods.

He shifts his hand so his ring and middle finger run along her. He rubs her for a moment, spreading her wetness and just feeling her heat. Then, slowly, he sinks his middle finger inside of her. He slowly rocks his finger in and out and she exhales against his neck. Her cunt is loose and hot and wet around his finger and he tries not to imagine how she’d feel gripping his cock, knowing it’s something he cannot have but still wanting it. 

“Curl it up towards my stomach,” she tells him in a gentle, guiding voice. “Don’t hook it, though.”

He does as he’s told, curling his finger slightly towards her stomach.

“Good?” he asks, stroking her like that.

“Good,” she confirms, her voice breathy. Her hips rock into his hand, spreading her thick wetness along his palm. “Touch outside, too.”

“How do you know these things?” he asks as he rubs his thumb over her clit, firm but not hard in slow circles. 

“The same as you, most likely. I wasn’t allowed to respond when men tried to court me, but I was allowed the privacy of my own chambers.”

Gods, he wants to see her touch herself one day. He wants to know every part of her body that brings her pleasure. Until then, he will find the spots he can and he will work her until she’s boneless beneath him and every exhale is a moan of pleasure.

“More,” she gasps, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Gods, _Sawamura_. Give me more."

He tries to press his ring finger in along the first and it’s a snug fit but not tight. He rocks his fingers deep with shallow movements and moves his thumb at the same slow pace until she’s gasping heavily and grinding down against his hand, desperate for her release. Even then, he does not speed up, letting it build and build so that when she comes, her thighs shake with it and her back arches. He only speeds up as she's coming and her voice breaks, moaning one second then going silent the next before gasping for breath. 

Her body clenches rhythmically around his fingers and he waits for the waves to ebb and her body to loosen before withdrawing his fingers. When he does, she rises to her knees and straddles his lap, settling her weight on top of him. He wraps an arm around her waist, enjoying how her skin feels against his own.

“Again?” he asks, rubbing between her legs.

She laughs. “No, not tonight. That was much more than I was expecting.”

“Did you think I would be bad?” he teases, nuzzling his nose up into her hair. He removes his hand from between her legs and wraps that arm around her as well, holding her even closer.

“I have heard men are not often so kind to the women they take. Do you have prior experience?”

“Just kissing and a bit of touching over clothes,” he says honestly. “I once told you I grew up in a small village. Everyone there, man or woman, is expected to be a virgin until marriage. I don't know if I believed that or not, but I never did anything to go against it."

Her fingers play with his hair. “Do you regret this, then?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

He kisses her temple then turns her, pressing her back against the mattress. He kisses her for another moment then pulls back to look around the tent. “You have a bowl with water for washing, don’t you?”

She looks towards a table where he sees a pitcher and a small bowl with a cloth. He stands up, walking shamelessly across her tent, and wets the cloth before returning to wipe her body clean. His lips follow the cloth, kissing her ankle up her calf to her thigh then kissing her cunt just once before moving to her stomach.

“Will you stay here tonight?” she asks as he wipes her breasts.

He frowns. “I shouldn’t. If Yachi comes back in the morning and sees, she may tell Yamaguchi and her friends, and if Hinata finds out, the whole camp will know.”

He doesn’t care what people think of him, but he cares what they think of her. As much as he hates to admit it, all those things she said about being a woman are true. Some men recognize their mistrust of women, others do not. There are those that think they treat women like equal but don’t.

“Just until I fall asleep, then?”

Sawamura runs the cloth gently up her neck. “I would like that.”

“Will this happen again?" she asks. "Or is tonight the only night I can hold you?”

They shouldn’t, for so many reasons, but he is a weak man.

He lies down next to her, wraps his arms around her, and murmurs into her hair, “Whenever you want me, I’ll be here. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can’t remember the last time I wrote straight sex from the perspective of the man but here we are. Thanks to [caelestisxyz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelestisxyz/pseuds/caelestisxyz) for looking this over for me months and months ago when I first wrote it and was really unsure about it!


	26. Birds of Prey

The weight of the air is crushing as they wait to attack the Eastern Fort. Heavy and solid no matter where he goes, Iwaizumi stands on a hilltop overlooking the camp, the stone fort visible in the distance. He sees many men doing objectively odd things, but they don’t seem so odd to Iwaizumi. There are monks of Shiratorizawa leading soldiers in prayer, other men like Hinata swinging their swords or whatever weapon they prefer, and more still that quietly sit, awaiting orders.

Despite his years and experience, Iwaizumi doesn’t have a ritual he does before battle. He honestly doesn’t think it will make a difference, but he doesn’t stop others. He never said a word as Matsukawa and Hanamaki ate a fistful of berries, something about wanting to die with a sweet taste in their mouth instead of copper blood. Kindaichi prayed and Oikawa was pensive and quiet, almost like he too was in prayer. Even Kunimi would meticulously check his weapons in an organized way that seemed almost ritualistic.

At camp, medical tents are set up swiftly and strategically, stocked well by the physicians from Shiratorizawa. Sugawara does his best to help where he can. None of the physicians seem to mind the aid of a magical healer. Battle medics have always had different priorities than the soldiers fighting. They fight to save lives, not take them. One magical healer cannot heal an army, but they can save lives that the physicians may not be able to. One life, two lives, three—however many they can save, the better.

Iwaizumi has never seen a battle of this scale and the number of deaths will surely shock him. Few of the soldiers have seen a battle like this promises to be. The last war ended forty years ago before most of these men were born.

Iwaizumi tears his eyes away from the fort and makes his way to the commanders’ tent. Standing around a map on a table are Michimiya, Sawamura, Ukai, Kuroo, Kenma, Ushijima, and a young man named Goshiki that leads the squad of pegasus riders accompanying them. The boy can’t be much older than Hinata or Kageyama, but Iwaizumi knows that Goshiki must have earned his title and his place at that table and does not judge him for his youth.

The rudimentary map, drawn by Iwaizumi, depicts the Eastern Fort. Iwaizumi is the only one that has visited the fort before. Even then, that seems like a lifetime ago, and he can only remember the rough structure of the fort, not the intricate hallways inside. There is an outer wall that protects the town and a second inner wall that guards the fort itself.

Ushijima wastes no time now that Iwaizumi is there. “This morning we will review the plan we agreed upon during our travels. First, the White Mage will create a layer of fog to minimize the damage from archers as we advance. Captain Goshiki’s squad will fly overhead and defeat the guards at the outer and inner gate. Both gates must be opened before we can reach the fort proper. The courtyard on the other side of the inner wall will determine our victory. If we cannot secure this position, we will not be able to hold the fort.”

“After they open the gates, my men can help deal with archers and lancers that patrol the walls,” Goshiki says.

“You only have seventy men,” Sawamura says skeptically. “They have a fort of trained soldiers.”

“My men will open the gates.” Goshiki’s promise is backed by skill and experience and trust. It’s hard to argue against.

Michimiya looks to Kenma. “Have you discovered a way to free the men from King Oikawa’s spell?”

Kenma shuffles as all eyes turn to him. “Yes. I’ve already taught the spell to Tsukishima, Sugawara, and Kuroo—any magic user can do it, regardless if they’re a healer or elemental mage. But there’s a problem. It has to be done on one person at a time. It requires skin to skin contact. It can’t be done in mass.”

Ushijima frowns. “I do not want you to be part of this battle, White Mage. You are the only one capable of exorcising the demon within King Oikawa.”

Kenma doesn’t argue.

“And Tsukishima and I?” Kuroo asks. “Sugawara’s helping your physicians, but what about us?”

“You should stay back as well until the fight this over,” Ushijima orders. “Returning as many of these men to normal may benefit us. They may want to fight to save their kingdom from the demon ruling it. In addition, Sir Iwaizumi is marching with us into battle. Should he fall, we will need someone with intimate knowledge of Aobajousai to survive.”

Kuroo nods.

“Who is watching the princess?” Ukai asks. “Besides Yamaguchi, Sawamura, and me. We need more than that if things go south.”

“Several of my men will be, including myself,” Goshiki says. “If something goes wrong, we’ll fly her out to General Saito’s force waiting beyond the mountains in Shiratorizawa.”

“We can watch her, too, if we’re meant to be staying back,” Kuroo says, looking to Kenma, who nods. “Tsuki, too.”

“Are there any other questions?” When no one says anything, Ushijima says, “Then I must talk to the vanguard force. We move at noon. Excuse me.”

Goshiki follows after his general, then Ukai is leaving as well, followed by Kuroo and Kenma. When only Iwaizumi, Sawamura, and Michimiya are left, Michimiya looks to Sawamura and says, “May we have a moment alone?” like it is a question, though Iwaizumi knows an order when he hears one.

Sawamura looks to Iwaizumi for a brief moment, as if trying to figure out her thoughts, then nods and leaves the tent.

Even alone, she does not say anything, her breathing even and calm despite the slight tension in her shoulders. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what she wants from him. He knows her well, but he can’t read her the way he could Oikawa and the longer the silence drags on, the more uncomfortable he becomes.

Awkward in the silence, he says, “You had Sugawara cut your hair again.”

She reaches up and touches the end of her short, boyish cut with a smile. “Yes. Shiratorizawa men respect more masculine women and, to be completely honest, long hair is such a pain. I had long hair all my life and while I enjoyed its beauty, it was a tedious thing to upkeep even with the help of my servants.”

Iwaizumi smiles and she appears more at ease.

“Are you okay?” he asks more seriously.

“I feel as though I should address these men. I am not their ruler. They are only here because their gods command it. Yet they fight for my name, for my kingdom. I should address them, should I not?”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Up to you, I guess.”

“What would your king do?”

“He wouldn’t even question what he needs to do. He would just know.”

Michimiya exhales. She knows what she must do, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think she knows how to do it. She’s done so well up until this point, but she’s never led men into battle, never led men to their death. She’s never even fought. How can she know what it’s like to walk into a battle and know you may not come back?

“Would you think less of me if I do not?” she asks.

“Why does it matter what I think?” he replies.

“Because you are my friend, Sir Iwaizumi, and I value your opinion. You speak so highly of the man your king once was and I aspire to be someone worth talking about in such a way.”

His first thought is to tell her to stop calling him that. He is a traitor. Hearing those words from her feels like a stab to the gut. Here he is, leading an enemy into a fort in his home. He marches against the man he swore his life to. He should not be a knight of this kingdom.

“Look,” he says instead, voice heavy. “If you don’t know what to say to them now, then don’t say anything at all. The wrong words before a battle can tilt men and it can make things a lot worse. Ushijima will take care of rallying the troops for now. He’s from Shiratorizawa. He knows how these men think and, honestly, I think they respect him. But you’re going to have to address them some day.”

She nods. “Thank you, Sir Iwaizumi. I appreciate your honesty.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Oikawa would say I have the restraint of a drunk commoner.”

She laughs quietly. “At times, perhaps, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

When they step outside the commanders’ tent, they see an owl with nearly black eyes blinking slowly at them perched on a barrel. A few soldiers whisper as they pass, wondering why an owl is out in the day, let alone why it's acting so calmly with so many people around. Iwaizumi knows what or rather who that owl is without seeing the intelligence in its gaze.

I will stay and watch her, Akaashi's eyes seem to say.

Michimiya nods her head at him and Akaashi takes off, flying into the sky, disappearing out of sight.

Sawamura is there, too, standing nearby, having waited for Iwaizumi and Michimiya to finish talking. He approaches and asks, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, Sir Sawamura.” She says it in a way that holds secrets. Iwaizumi only knows because she sounds so much like how Oikawa did when he would call him Sir Iwaizumi.

Sometimes, Iwaizumi looks at her and sees him. Then he looks closely and all he can see are the ways they are different, wishing he hadn’t looked closely at all, wishing he had been able to see Oikawa the way he was before just one more time.

“Don’t leave her side,” Iwaizumi says to Sawamura, though it doesn’t really need saying.

“Never,” Sawamura replies.

 

* * *

 

At noon, their forces move to attack the fort.

Iwaizumi marches alongside Ushijima at the front of the force when they make their advance towards the fort and the town it was designed to protect. He has always believed that if you are to lead men into battle, you should truly lead them, and Ushijima seems to think the same.

Kenma’s magical fog rolls over the fort and surrounding town like it is a living, breathing thing. It is nothing like the miniscule fog Tsukishima created when they fought against the demon possessing Kuroo. This fog shifts in front of the soldiers on the ground as they advance but keeps their exact formation hidden from enemy archers. Iwaizumi can only see a few feet in front of him, the shifting fog only allowing them that much.

Pegasus riders fly overhead, shadows through the thickening cloud, before disappearing as they target the outer wall. There is no signal of their victory at the outer wall, only the churning of chains and hidden mechanisms as the outer gate is lifted.

The town is silent, the people hidden away, either at their fort or in their homes. Not even a mouse scurries about, the only sound as they progress the rhythm thunk-thunk of metal armor shifting and boots hitting cobblestone.

As they near the inner wall of the fort, the arrows come from above. Ushijima calls for shields, voice carrying ages behind them. Several soldiers lift large metal shields overhead, others crouching beneath, the arrows hitting dully but rarely sneaking through the gaps in the cover. Even the best archer cannot hit their mark if they cannot see.

Iwaizumi hears a cry he’s never heard before and looks to the sky as a pegasus falls, shot down. The heavy creature rights itself before it plummets through the roof of a home, lopsidedly rising once more to continue forward. Even with the outer gate open, the inner gate must be opened as well.

He can hear the heavy mechanical gears shift as they reach the inner gate, which falls before their very eyes, the fog seemingly thinner here so they can fight. On the other side of the gate stands dozens of soldiers armed to their teeth.

Iwaizumi inhales and charges. 

There’s a sword swinging towards him before he can think. He brings his own weapon up, metal clashing, and chaos erupts around them. Every step forward he takes, he’s pushed back two more. For every soldier he cuts down, two more follow, then three.

As he parries a lance, an arrow buries into the neck of a man coming at him with a sword. He sees Hinata’s fiery red hair rush past, followed by a quick succession of arrows, no doubt from Kageyama. Ushijima leads a group of men, gaining the most ground, and by the most, Iwaizumi means a few feet into the courtyard.

Iwaizumi breaks his way through the front line, deeper into the enemy lines now, though hardly anyone notices, too busy with what’s in front of them to worry about their left and right. One at a time, he cuts them down, quick slashes to their open backs or sides, dirt and blood alike coating his leather gloves and metal vambraces.

Then, he’s surrounded by soldiers with lifeless eyes, men enchanted by the Grand King, men who can’t refuse orders no matter how badly they want to, slaves to a demon’s wishes. Iwaizumi turns, waiting for them to make the first move, knowing that stepping forward will leave him too exposed.

Three attack at once, but all from the same direction. He parries, turns, blocks another blow with his sword and brings his arm up to catch the other with his metal vambrace, hoping they’re not strong enough to break the armor. They’re not. He pushes away their blade and turns, sliding his sword into their gut, drawing back quickly do to the same to a second.

They do not fall, not immediately, no sense of pain. Turning again, he meets another sword, blocking each blow until the fifth when he gets past their defense and twists his blade when he draws it out, wanting to shred their insides so they bleed out quickly.

One charges his back, but he jumps to the side, and they skewer their friend with their lance. Panting, Iwaizumi turns. He draws his dagger and slices their wrists, not aiming to make them bleed, but to cut tendons. A man that can’t hold a weapon is less a threat, he thinks as he holsters his dagger and meets another blow head on.

As many as it takes, he thinks, breaking their defenses again and again until the enemies slowly begin to fall. Spell or not, bodies have their limits, only so much blood they can lose, only so many tendons and bones to hold their bodies together.

The last enemy that circled him falls, and he pants heavily, exhausted in a way he can’t describe. He feels like he just took down fifty men, not ten. How many soldiers are like those he just fought? How many have been cut down only to rise again?

Over the noise of the battlefield, he hears Kageyama cry out and cold, hard dread crashes into Iwaizumi. He can’t hear Kageyama hit the ground over the sounds of battle, or the snap of his bone, but he can see it. He can see Kageyama’s dominant arm clutched tightly to his chest with a strange bump to it, his precious bow forgotten.

Worse than Kageyama’s broken bone is the soldier looming over him, lance drawn back.

Iwaizumi’s legs move before his mind can tell him it’s useless, that there’s no way he’ll make it in time. He watches it all happen in slow motion. A few seconds feels like an eternity.

As the soldier’s lance comes down, Kageyama brings his leg up, kicking blindly at the man, desperate, his foot tangling with the soldier’s legs. The soldier stumbles, the head of the lance scrapping shrilly against stone instead of piercing through Kageyama’s body. Kageyama kicks again. His foot collides with the man’s hip then the next blow hits his stomach, knocking him over to the ground.

Kageyama rolls onto his side, then onto the man, reaching down to his thigh for a dagger with his good arm, needing a weapon, any weapon. The soldier pushes at him, tumbling, Kageyama not able to give up much a fight, until Kageyama is beneath him, dagger knocked from his hand and just out of reach.

The man turns to his fists and hits Kageyama again and again, Kageyama unable to block with his one broken, mangled arm. His head is jerked from side to side as the man’s fists dig into his cheeks. Still, Kageyama fights, blood spitting from his mouth into the man’s face, shoving pointlessly at the man’s chest with his good arm, refusing to give up.

The man has his hands around Kageyama’s throat now, squeezing, and Kageyama’s legs kick but only hit the man’s thighs, knees unable to reach his groin.

“Fuck,” Kageyama gasps, both hands to the man’s wrists, fingers digging into his skin like claws, and Iwaizumi does not know if the hands on his throat or the forceful movement of his broken arm are causing him more pain.

Then Iwaizumi is there, and he easily runs the man through with his sword, blood dripping down onto Kageyama, who is panting, dirty and bruised and bloody and alive.

Iwaizumi tosses the soldier to the side, checks to see if anyone is paying them any attention, then kneels down next to Kageyama, who shuffles so his back is to the wall, away from the center of the room where he could be knocked into more easily. Each movement brings him visible pain, sweat dripping down his forehead to his already swollen face.

“Any other major injuries?” Iwaizumi asks, gently prodding at his broken arm. Kageyama hisses through his teeth, refusing to make a pained noise. He just barely manages to shake his head. “Where’s Hinata? He watches your back while you shoot, right?”

Kageyama grunts and knocks his hand away. “Don’t stop fighting. Until it Breaks.”

Until it Breaks, he thinks, hearing Oikawa’s voice and Kageyama’s at the same time, the two mixing inside his mind into a single voice he can’t argue against.

Iwaizumi stands, swatting the blood off his sword with a flick of the wrist, and moves in front of Kageyama. Hinata is busy fending off two swordsmen some feet away, unable to spare even a glance for Kageyama, though the look in his eyes is fierce. Iwaizumi wouldn’t want to face that kid right now.

“Stay behind me,” Iwaizumi orders. “You got another dagger?”

“No.”

Iwaizumi gives him his own. “If anyone gets past me, you stab the bastard in the ankle and when he falls, you stab him in the chest.”

Kageyama nods.

Iwaizumi examines the battlefield.

Ushijima is out in the front, the soldiers that had charged with him gone or lying on the ground in various states of distress. Ushijima stands solid, an unmoving force, even with a circle of enemy soldiers around him. There is blood on his face and armor, but Iwaizumi does not think it’s his own. The soldiers circling him are hesitant to attack and each one brave enough to move is knocked down instantly.

He spots other Shiratorizawa soldiers in similar positions. Even in this open courtyard, the pegasus riders in the sky can do little to assist, taking out archers or lancers on the walkways of the walls, but there’s not enough room for them to swoop down and take out multiple enemies on the ground. Even in this large fort, the space is too tight. They’re outnumbered two to one, sometimes more.

Fuck, Iwaizumi thinks as a man charges him, this really isn’t good.

Iwaizumi knocks away their blow and slides his sword along their side, slicing through beneath their ribs. He kicks them to the side, out of the way, eyes searching for the next enemy.

There has to be a way out of this, he thinks, mind thinking quickly as his body moves automatically from years of practice and battles. He has to have read something about a situation like this, some battle where the attackers won. He has to know something about the structure of the fort that he forgot earlier. Something, _anything_.

If he can’t think of something, he can’t imagine they win this fight. He can’t imagine they make it out alive unless they retreat and even then, their losses would be great.

It’s then he hears it, a pegasus rider in the sky shouting down to Ushijima, “ _Sub-humans_! A whole damn flock of them!”

The entire battlefield stills for a brief moment. Ushijima and Iwaizumi look to the sky.

An enormous flock of birds appears, normal in size at first and then growing larger, changelings taking on their true shape. Owls and hawks and raptors and vultures, massive creatures that could fill a small room, wings nearly as long as horses, bodies the size of humans and talons sharp like spears.

From the flock, a great-horned owl swoops down, easily taking out several archers on the wall with its wings then spiraling down into the courtyard. Iwaizumi watches Bokuto take on his skin form, standing in the middle of the stunned, still crowd.

Bokuto appears unguarded with open skin and no weapon in his hand. He wears no armor, only an open black vest and leather vambraces, and the only weapons on him are a series of throwing daggers on his thighs.

Shiratorizawa and Aobajousai soldiers alike circle the man, the only one of his kind to touch down on the battlefield. The others circle the sky, taking out Aobajousai soldiers on the walls while avoiding the pegasus knights that volley arrows at them. There are hundreds of them, Iwaizumi thinks, maybe more.

“Iwaizumi!” Bokuto says, a happy smile on his face, unbothered by the enemies surrounding him. “Looks like we found you just in time.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh. “Damn straight.”

Movement returns to the battlefield.

Iwaizumi looks away to fend off a man with a longsword and when he looks back, Bokuto is in his feather owl form, flying over the crowd circling him. He watches as Bokuto dives towards an Aobajousai soldier, changing seamlessly in his skin form to avoid their spear, then reaching down to his thigh for a dagger and slicing it across the man’s throat.

Another two soldiers are on him, one sword going high and the other slow. Bokuto jumps, transforming into a smaller feathered form, the size of an actual owl, and he flies through their swords without a scratch on him.

He keeps flying towards a man’s head, talons digging deep into the soft flesh of their exposed face, and when they flail and scream in pain, they drop their weapon. Back to a skin form, Bokuto picks up their spear and slides it up into their body from under their ribs. His yellow eyes are wild, pupils like slits, more wolf than owl, more beast than man.

Bokuto draws the bloody lance from the man’s body and thrusts it into the sky in a show of victory. There is a cry from changelings in the sky, birds of all type celebrating their king, who must sense or hear a soldier coming up from behind him because he stops his victory to spin, clashing weapons with the soldier with a wicked grin.

All around them, changelings are coming down to the ground and fighting the same way, though no one takes down their foe as quickly as Bokuto. The Shiratorizawa soldiers seem to realize the creatures they so greatly despise are on their side and charge with them, gaining quarter and pushing deeper into the fort.

Somehow, Iwaizumi finds himself back to back with Ushijima.

“Who is that man?” Ushijima says.

“The warrior king of Fukurodani, Bokuto,” Iwaizumi replies with a grin, adrenaline and hope rushing through his blood. “He promised his people would help Princess Michimiya when the time came.”

Ushijima calmly cuts down a soldier. “The princess has strange friends.”

Iwaizumi laughs. “Yeah, she does.”

 

* * *

 

With the help of Bokuto and the other changelings, they turn the tide of the battle. They advance deep into the fort, finding the general in charge barricaded in the banquet hall. The man is familiar, but his eyes are not. Dead like a rotten fish, those eyes watch them and the general draws his weapon against Ushijima, who gives the man no mercy.

When the general falls to Ushijima’s blade, the enemy knows the battle is over. Soldiers that are not enchanted begin to surrender, begging for mercy and their lives. Only the soldiers under the Grand King’s spell fight until the bitter end. They restrain what men they can, but it is not an easy task, and by the time Kenma, Kuroo, and Tsukishima have taken to the quieting battlefield to free them from the spell, most are dead.

Iwaizumi stands surrounded by fallen comrades and enemies, and he looks over to see Ushijima bow his head in what Iwaizumi thinks is prayer. Iwaizumi has never considered himself a coward, but he cannot look at the bodies around him, afraid of who he will recognize and who he will not. He leaves the battlefield as quickly as he can manage, marching back towards the medical tents in search of Kageyama, hoping he was able to protect himself and stay alive after that injury.

The short time after a battle is a strange thing. Some celebrate, others mourn, others still tense with lingering adrenaline and bloodlust. There are more injured than dead, which is a good sign. Iwaizumi wonders how many they lost. A few hundred, probably.

He finds Kageyama in one of the smaller tents furthest from the battlefield for those with more minor injuries—broken bones, slashes to the arms, shallow cuts to the face. Kageyama sits on a cot while a physician braces his broken arm. There’s chaos all around and they work on Kageyama roughly, uncaring for his winces, and then gives him a vial and tells him to take a small sip. Kageyama does without thinking.

When he draws the vial back, he makes a face. “Was that poppy milk?”

The physician takes back the vial and nods, tightly wrapping Kageyama’s arm with strips of cloth.

“Where’s Sugawara?” Kageyama asks.

“The healer? Off doing miracles, probably. Saw him heal a sword wound to the stomach. Guy’s guts are visible and he just said a spell and it sealed right up.” They shake their head and smile. “I don’t know if all healers are that good, but they’re fucking miracle workers, those healers, no matter what the empire says.”

The physician then all but drags Kageyama from the cot to tug down the next person they need to tend to. Kageyama staggers, frowning, and Iwaizumi approaches him.

“Let’s go sit somewhere until Sugawara can heal your arm,” Iwaizumi says.

Kageyama nods.

They find a tree near the medical tents, out of the way but close enough they can keep an eye out for Sugawara. Kageyama’s arm is immobilized with thin pieces of wood and strips of fabric, but Sugawara will be able to heal it easily. The healer is going to be exhausted at the end of the day, Iwaizumi realizes, with everyone vying for his attention.

By the time they find a spot to sit and wait, the poppy milk is has already made Kageyama softer than usual. Kageyama’s head lulls gently to the side on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and he thinks the younger man may just fall asleep.

The idea of him as a man and not a boy is still foreign to Iwaizumi. Half the time, he sees him as a boy, the other half as a man, the two states of Kageyama blurring together in his mind.

But instead of falling asleep, Kageyama quietly asks, “Do you remember when King Oikawa broke his arm that summer?”

Oikawa has broken his arm twice since meeting Iwaizumi. Once from falling out of a tree when they were children and again that summer Kageyama is talking about.

Oikawa was still a prince then. They rode south for some mission Iwaizumi no longer remembers and a snake spoked Oikawa’s horse, throwing him off. Landing badly, Oikawa’s arm broke just below the wrist and their mission changed to finding one of the few magical healers in Aobajousai so Oikawa could recover in a few moments instead of a few weeks or months. They followed rumors and whispers until they found a woman in a small village, who refused payment for her work, saying helping the prince was price enough.

“I remember,” Iwaizumi says, just as quiet, eyes tracking those passing by to see if any of the Ukai Mercenaries or their other companions are nearby. They may question why Kageyama is acting like this especially after what Kuroo said when he was possessed.

_Your dearest, favorite little soldier._

Iwaizumi wonders if Kageyama’s told any of them yet, if any of them have had the guts to ask. What would he tell them? That Iwaizumi thought him to read, and ride a horse, and skin a deer, and shave eventually, just before he left them for good? Would he explain why he had to leave in the first place?

He met both Kunimi and Kageyama when they were fourteen, but not at the same time. He was older when he met Kageyama and he always seemed so much younger than Kunimi had at that age. Then again, Kunimi never seemed like a child at all with his upbringing as an assassin.

“King Oikawa acted like it didn’t hurt,” Kageyama says, bringing Iwaizumi back to the present when Kageyama is older, nearly as old as Iwaizumi had been when they first met.

“It hurt him, but he never showed any of you. His pride stopped him from being weak in front of all of you.”

“But not you?”

“Pride never mattered much between us.” Iwaizumi glances down at Kageyama, who has shut his eyes. “Get some rest. You’ve always been weak to poppy milk.”

“It makes me feel weird,” Kageyama grumbles unhappily.

Iwaizumi laughs quietly. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a moment of pause, then Kageyama says, “Are you really going to be able to face him in battle, Captain?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“I always wanted to beat him, but not like this.”

Iwaizumi inhales deeply and exhales just as long. “Get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

Sugawara cannot heal all the injured, but he saves a few lives with his magic and the Shiratorizawa soldiers don’t know whether to thank him or burn him, though the healers seem to respect him.

Once Kageyama is healed and Hinata is assigned as his new babysitter, Iwaizumi seeks out the princess and Ushijima. Everyone will want to celebrate, but if they can put a thought into the soldiers’ heads, tell them where they are going next and what their goal is, they can celebrate with that goal in mind. Striking motivation while the iron is hot.

To do that, they need to plan their next attack. No one knew if they would take the Eastern Fort in this first attack or what their numbers would be like after, so there was no set plan. He already saw a few pegasus riders take towards the mountains, relaying their victory to the larger force waiting to join them in Shiratorizawa. Bolstering their numbers will be good after this battle.

And they don’t just have Shiratorizawa soldiers coming to reinforce them. From the looks of the trees, Bokuto brought an army. The trees droop under the weight of so many birds, their limbs black and brown instead of green with leaves. Every tree he sees is full of changelings, eerily silent as they watch the soldiers below. It feels like a thousand eyes are watching him as he walks into the commanders’ tent.

There, he finds Bokuto and Akaashi in their skin forms standing next to Michimiya, Sawamura, and Ushijima. Akaashi is saying something, not pausing for a second when Iwaizumi comes in.

“—no, I merely feigned blindness when you last saw me. My eyes give away my true nature.”

“They look like the eyes of a demon,” Ushijima says, voice flat. Akaashi’s black eyes stare back. “When the Arc Mage was possessed, his eyes were black like yours.”

“I’m not a demon,” Akaashi insists, calm but firm. “I’m a changeling.”

“Is that what you call yourselves?”

“It is our preferred term, yes.”

“Enough of this already,” Bokuto groans, tugging at his hair. There’s faint pink all over his skin, blood hastily wiped but not scrubbed away. It stays deep in the folds of his leather vest, marking him.

Sawamura meets Iwaizumi’s eyes and shakes his head. Apparently, this has been going on for a while. Iwaizumi isn’t surprised. Of course, someone as practical and logical as Ushijima will want to know all of the details of their new allies. Like mages, changelings are hunted in Shiratorizawa. The pegasus riders that helped them enter the fort today were created to hunt changelings from the skies of their empire.

Accepting your enemy as your friend is a hard thing when it goes against everything you’ve been taught, but out of everyone in Shiratorizawa, Ushijima is the most willing to listen to his enemies. His tentative acceptance of mages has proved that.

“How many did you bring with you?” Iwaizumi asks, cutting in. All eyes turn to him.

“To this battle, three hundred,” Bokuto answers. “But there are almost three thousand more in the mountains waiting to see what will happen to us.”

Three thousand from Fukurodani, Iwaizumi thinks. In addition to the three thousand from Shiratorizawa waiting to cross the mountains and join them. They’ll no longer be outnumbered when they take the remaining Cardinal Forts.

“What does that mean?” Sawamura asks.

“I think Lord Bokuto is asking if General Ushijima will accept our help or not,” Akaashi says. “Though, of course, I believe the call belongs to Princess Michimiya.”  

Ushijima looks to Michimiya. “Do you trust these men?”

“I do,” Michimiya replies with a nod.

Ushijima is quiet for a moment.

“There are many things I have been taught that I am beginning to question,” Ushijima admits. “If you trust these men, then I will welcome their strength. Your skill in battle is undeniable, Lord Bokuto.”

Bokuto grins widely. “I saw you fight, too, y’know! We definitely need to spare.”

Before Ushijima can respond, Ukai and Kuroo come into the tent.

“How is it out there?” Sawamura asks.

Ukai’s expression is grave. “Kenma and Tsukishima are still breaking the Grand King’s enchantment, but most of the soldiers affected fought to the death. Right now, we need to figure out what we’re doing next. The troops are happy, but once that passes, they’ll need a direction to focus on, something to plan for.”

Ushijima nods in agreement. “With the addition of the changelings of Fukurodani, I believe the best choice is to split our forces. When General Saito and his force of three thousand join us, all foot soldiers will march to the west towards the Northern Fort. Lord Bokuto can lead his force to the south and take the Southern Fort, followed by the Western Fort. If necessary, we can divert foot soldiers to aide in defeating the Southern Fort.”

   

“Once all of the Cardinal Forts are conquered, we will regroup and attack the capital, Seijoh.”

“I agree with taking out multiple forts at a time, but a full-frontal attack on Seijoh is going to be a massacre,” Iwaizumi says. “There’s three layers—lower, middle, and upper. The castle is at the top of the upper layer and is surrounded by forests and mountains. The streets bottle neck as you reach the castle.”

Bokuto frowns. “Fighting over here is so much more complicated, Akaashi,” he laments.

“Moving a large army through the city will be even harder than it was to reach the inner wall of the fort today,” Ukai says, rubbing the back of his head as he thinks. “Can you come in from the sides? Go around the city and come in through the mountains?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Not with a large force, no.”

“But a small force?” Michimiya asks. “One so small, it would not be detected? Twenty or so.”

“It could be done,” Iwaizumi says carefully. “What are you thinking?”

“Here,” she says, pointing to the map of the continent and leaning forward to read what is written. “Fort Kitagawa. This fort resides on a peninsula to the east of Seijoh. Could a small force cross the ocean from here? Either changelings or the pegasus riders.”

“Changelings could make that distance in one flight,” Akaashi confirms.

“Pegasus riders can as well,” Ushijima says.

“Fort Kitagawa is in ruins,” Kuroo adds. “It’s completely abandoned, has been for decades. A blizzard killed everyone in the fort and the surrounding village. It’s a good place to camp and wait.”

“You could cross the ocean at the right time,” Ukai begins, “and strike from behind just before the frontal force enters Seijoh through the front.”

“Disrupt the enemy ranks from the inside,” Sawamura surmises. “Maybe even take out the Riders. They’re the ones in charge of Seijoh, right? Not some general?”

“Right,” Kuroo confirms.

“Akaashi can fly between the groups and communicate,” Bokuto adds cheerfully. “He’s really fast and good at strategy like this.”

“Who would lead this force?” Michimiya asks.

“Sir Iwaizumi and Kuroo must be a part of this strike force,” Ushijima says. “They know Seijoh castle better than anyone.”

“Our people are willing to fight for you,” Bokuto says, “but we won’t be mounted like animals. We could carry you with our talons, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

“Pegasus riders, then,” Ushijima says. “One pegasus rider for every none rider, and we will have twenty men. Sir Iwaizumi, who would you like to join you?”

Sawamura has to stay by Michimiya, Iwaizumi thinks, and Ukai has to stay with her as well. Sugawara will do more good with the physicians than waiting around in some ruined fort for weeks.

“Myself, Kuroo, Kenma, Kageyama, Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Azumane.” Iwaizumi counts on his fingers. That’s only eight. “Ushijima, would you join us?”

Ushijima nods. “General Saito is capable of leading the force to the west by himself, so yes, I will gladly join you, Sir Iwaizumi.”

“Then those nine, plus one other you can choose,” Iwaizumi says to Ushijima. “And we shouldn’t tell the soldiers where this small force is going. Say we’re on a mission, but don’t tell them where. We can’t risk this spreading.”

“Agreed,” Ukai says.

“I will go and tell the men that we will continue our fight and capture the Cardinal Forts,” Ushijima says. “Lord Bokuto, I would like for you and Akaashi to be by my side when I announce that our forces will be joining.”

“Can it, uh, wait just a minute?” Bokuto asks. “I want to check in with Yachi first. She’s still here, right?”

Ushijima frowns, clearly confused why a king would want to see to the common woman traveling with the princess, but he nods.

“She is in my tent. I will show you the way,” Princess Michimiya offers.

Soon, everyone but Iwaizumi and Kuroo has left the tent. The two stare at the map of their home kingdom, neither saying a word.

“Can you really attack Seijoh and the Riders?” Kuroo asks seriously.

Iwaizumi’s hands ball into fists, his face twisting tightly. “I’m so fucking sick of people asking me if I can or can’t do something! Can I face Oikawa? Can I attack the Riders? What fucking choice do I have, Kuroo? What other option is there?”

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he’s left panting and Kuroo is just staring at him, some mix of shock and eerie calmness. “There are a lot of options. You could leave this place all together, go to some other kingdom. You could march back to Oikawa’s side. You could kill yourself and be done with all of this. But those aren’t options to you. You only see one option because you’re loyal, and kind, and good.”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “Loyal enough to march against the kingdom I swore to protect?”

“Did you really swear to protect this kingdom? Or did you swear to protect Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi’s jaw shifts, irritated because Kuroo has always seen right through him just like he does everyone else. He meets his gaze, trying to see back through him and getting very little. “Why are you fighting?”

“I’ve seen what these things can do. Every part of me wants to run away and hide, but it’s still going to be there in the corner of my eye. I think I’ll always see it. No matter where I run, no matter where I hide, it will find me. I may as well fight it.” Kuroo laughs. “I sound like a mad man, don’t I?”

Iwaizumi cracks a grin. “A bit.”

Kuroo smiles, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes. “I’m going to see if I can track down Kenma or Tsukishima. You should get some rest.”

“Thanks, Kuroo.”

As Kuroo walks by, he claps a hand on his shoulder, then leaves.

Iwaizumi puts his hands on the table and looks at the map. Kuroo is right. There are many choices, but there’s only choice that can bring Oikawa back to him. He has to take down Seijoh and the Riders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to thank the fantastic [possibledreamswriting](http://possibledreamswriting.tumblr.com/) for reading this chapter after I first wrote it (and it wasn't even done) because the beginning and end were way rougher than they are now. Seriously, go check out her stuff, her ideas are fantastic and I love her world building and how much thought she puts into little details for characters.


	27. Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit M/M sexual content.

   

When the secondary force of three thousand soldiers crosses the mountains and meets with the vanguard force in the conquered Eastern Fort, their force splits three ways. One force led by the warriors of Fukurodani flies south to the Southern Fort and will then travel to the west to the Western Fort. Meanwhile, their largest force led Princess Michimiya, Ukai, Sawamura, and the Shiratorizawa's General Saito marches west across the snowy fields to the Northern Fort. Their final and smallest force led by Iwaizumi and Ushijima slowly makes their way north to the abandoned Fort Kitagawa to wait for news of the others' victories. 

With pegasus knights, the smallest force will fly across the ocean and lead a covert attack on Seijoh when the others attack from the south. Akaashi and several of his most trusted men will fly and communicate between the two groups. With Akaashi’s help, they will be able to lead a dual attack on Seijoh: the main force led by Michimiya, Sawamura, Ukai, and General Saito from the south while Iwaizumi and a small group attack deftly from the west. Iwaizumi and the others will sneak them into the heart of the castle and take out the Riders, their commanders, and bring chaos amongst the ranks.

Iwaizumi cannot worry about what can go wrong (and there’s a list a league long on what could go wrong). He must focus on the plan and believe it will work.

It’s during their first break of the day that he hears the now familiar cry of an owl and looks up, spotting Akaashi, who circles down and transforms next to Iwaizumi, sitting at the fire and grabbing one of the sticks of meat cooking over the open flame.

“Hungry?” Iwaizumi asks with a grin. Akaashi takes a large bite of meat and nods, chewing the charred meat slowly despite his ravenous hunger. “Is it just me, or are we moving more slowly? I can’t tell from the ground. Ushijima says he's not familiar enough with the territory to make a good judgement."

“You are,” Akaashi confirms when has finally swallowed. “The others to the west are as well, but they’re still moving faster than you despite having all those soldiers. There are less mountains along their path, but the soldiers from Shiratorizawa still are not used to traveling with these many supplies for this long in the snow. It's been some time since your people had a proper war."

"And your people? Do you have wars?"

"Conflicts, yes, though I wouldn't call them wars. When conflicts occur, we do not need to travel by foot or carry so many supplies. We can hunt freely in our feather form and sleep anywhere there is a tree or cover. If we fill our stomaches in our feather form, they are full in our skin form."

"Sounds convenient."

"Food tastes better in skin form, though." Iwaizumi laughs. Akaashi grins then asks more seriously, "Do you think you're traveling slowly due to the terrain or moral?"

Iwaizumi stokes the fire. "Both? Even with horses and pegasi, trudging through the snow is tiring. We were just going to ride the pegasi to Fort Kitagawa, but Goshiki doesn't want to risk injuring them. I agree since they're crucial to the plan."

While Iwaizumi wants to reach the ruins of Fort Kitagawa quickly so they are not discovered during their journey, he does not want anyone to sustain any injuries. A day or two will not harm them, not when they will likely be in the fort for several weeks, waiting for the others to conquer the Northern Fort and make their way to Seijoh. So he thinks of what is nearby. There’re a few caves, some heavily wooded areas away from any cities or towns, and one place he could never forget.

“There’s a hot spring about half a day off our planned route,” Iwaizumi says. “We could take a short reprieve and travel faster when rested. I'm sure Ushijima will agree."

“You know the way?” 

Iwaizumi nods. “I’ve been there before."

“Get there by sunset, even if you have to push hard. Then take a day or two off. Use your judgement. You're in no hurry. It will take some time for the others to reach the Northern Fort and then you will have to wait for them to reach Seijoh."

“What about your people? How are they fairing?”

“They’re patrolling the skies at the Southern Fort. The soldiers there are expecting an attack from the land, not the sky. I don't think word of changelings joining the army has spread."

"That's good. I don't think it'll stay that way for long, though. When are your people attacking?"

"My people won’t attack until I join them. Lord Bokuto wants me by his side to help restrain our more wild colleagues during the heat of battle, himself included.” Akaashi stands, tossing the wooden skewer into the fire. “I’ll be off, then. Good luck.”

“Be careful,” Iwaizumi warns solemnly.

Akaashi grins. “I always am.”

Then, he transforms and takes off.

Iwaizumi watches the fire, remembering the last time he had gone to those hot springs.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks have passed since Oikawa’s coming of age party. Iwaizumi can still taste the sweet red wine and the sharper, smoother taste of the brown amber they had imported from Karasuno. It was fermented grain, according to Oikawa’s father, a fine drink for a man. The liquor seemed to pour endlessly into his goblet and the table of food went on for leagues—roasted ducks, the wild boar Oikawa had hunted the day before, potatoes of all kinds, and green vegetables Iwaizumi only saw on the rarest of occasions. The entertainment was the best the kingdom had to offer. Dancers and jesters and singers of all kinds came to entertain the prince, who laughed and smiled the entire night. 

Oikawa is a man now, but Iwaizumi does not think he is any different. He is still the same. He is still his prince.

Now, he rides slowly along an unmarked path with Oikawa, their horses side by side, their journey leisurely. Oikawa’s new sword is at his hip, a gift from the king, the sheath carved with images depicting his greatest moments thus far—the vicious bear he shot down during his first hunt, his record-breaking victory when he won his fifth archery tournament in the row in disguise, his harrowing climb to the tallest peak in the kingdom—and the sheath is still incomplete. There is room for more great things, which Oikawa will surely manage.

They ride in relative silence, Oikawa humming the song of his family or chatting about something. Soon, they see steam rising in the distance and pick up their pace. They reach the hot springs by dusk, tying their horses to trees near the river, giving them enough slack on the ropes to graze and drink and wander a bit should they want. There is grass here that is not covered by snow so they will not go hungry. Their horses may be bred to withstand the cold, but they still make sure the blankets are tight around their steads, not wanting them to suffer.

Eagerly, Oikawa and Iwaizumi venture into the caves where the hot springs lie, the steam curling around them in visible wisps like some ethereal spirit is greeting them. The caves are tall and deep, holes in the roof releasing the steam. They do not have to go far to find the pools of steaming water. There are small pockets of water and larger pools that disappear into the tall cave walls, stretching deep underground. Where the light shines through the holes in the ceiling, the water is transparent, bluer than any sky. It's a place that belongs in a dream.

Iwaizumi sweeps the area though Oikawa seems unafraid, casually setting his belongings on a dry rock and confidently stripping out of his rabbit fur-lined cloak and the armor and layers underneath. Iwaizumi resists the urge to make a quip about how he _can_ undress himself without the help of servants because the view of watching him underdress is far better than any reaction he would get.

Oikawa has never been shy about changing in front of him. Often there are servants dressing him, or undressing him while Iwaizumi sits in a chair in his chambers and waits for them to finish. Sometimes Iwaizumi undresses him, undoing the clasps of his armor and trying not to look, sliding Oikawa’s clothes off his body with a carefully neutral expression. 

With the sun almost set, they will soon be in the dark. Iwaizumi leaves to fetch an oil lantern from their bags on their horses, passing by Oikawa, who is in only his trousers. When he returns with the lantern lit, he finds Oikawa bare. His back is to Iwaizumi, who stares at the curves of muscled back, his waist, his ass. He may be a prince, but he is a warrior as well. In the faint light of the lantern, Oikawa’s pale skin glows gold. His skin is not free of scars, but he is relatively unmarked. He is pure and virginal, as was required of him until he came of age, a promise made to the gods that he has kept.

Oikawa stands at the edge of the hot springs for a moment before slowly stepping in, submerging himself in the water fully with a pleasant sigh. He sinks down below the water but quickly returns to the surface, pushing wet hair from his face, and turns to see Iwaizumi. His smile is magnificent, almost child-like with joy, free of any care or worry. 

“This feels so nice." He splashes some water towards Iwaizumi, not quite hitting him, and laughs. “Join me!”

Iwaizumi sets the lamp near their clothes and begins to strip. His armor is heavier than Oikawa’s, whose is light for easier travel. Iwaizumi’s is meant for fighting. That is the purpose of his body. He is not unmarked, pure, or virginal. He is scarred, dirty, and used. He is a weapon, a tool, a shield. (Iwaizumi does not know it, not then, but Oikawa watches him anyways.)

Shameless even when naked, Iwaizumi steps into the water some ways away from Oikawa and begins to scrub the dirt from his skin. Oikawa floats around the hot spring, soaking in its warmth, occasionally humming or sighing. Iwaizumi tries to focus on cleaning himself of the day’s dirt and sweat, but his eyes keep returning to Oikawa.

There are hot springs at the bottom of the castle that the royal family use to bathe, but those walls are lined with painted stones. The royal bathes are enormous and, as the name suggests, for royals. Oikawa broke that rule often, having Iwaizumi bathe with him, sometimes the Riders as well. Not often, because Oikawa enjoys the rare solitude and privacy the baths grant him, but on occasion. When they were younger, they bathed together more frequently, until it became too difficult to be around a naked Oikawa and he came up with clumsy excuses to avoid the prince’s invitations.

Here, in the small cave, there is no place to hide, nowhere to avert his gaze like he has done so quietly for years. He does not know when he began to look but now he finds it hard to stop.

When Iwaizumi is done cleaning himself, he sits on a ledge and rests his back against the rocks at the edge of the spring. His waist is below the water and it is doing wonders for him, easing away the pain of the journey. He closes his eyes and relaxes his muscles, though keeps his senses sharp. Iwaizumi is good at knowing when they’re followed. Still, he is not perfect, and Oikawa insisted they take this trip alone without extra guards. He even turned down the Riders’ company.

He’s on the lookout for trouble and trouble is what he gets. He hears Oikawa swimming towards him, then feels Oikawa’s feet touch his calves. He waits until Oikawa is practically straddling him to open his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi asks, exasperated. He half expects Oikawa to try and drown him in some poorly planned attempt at a joke.

Oikawa hums the way he does that drives Iwaizumi mad. With a steady hand, Oikawa reaches up and cards his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair until his hand is resting at the back of his skull.

“Do you know why we came here?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi blinks dumbly at him. “You asked your father for time off to travel to celebrate coming of age and you insisted we see these springs.”

“So you _do_ listen when I talk.”

Oikawa tilts his head slightly, eyes searching Iwaizumi’s face. He is dangerously close and the longer he stays this close, the more dangerous this becomes. Iwaizumi should push him away.

“Do you know the real reason?”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Apparently not.”

Oikawa smiles fondly, his expression gentle. It’s so unlike the expression he wears around the castle. There, he is stoic. During practice, he is ruthless and poised. There are rare moments of reprieve—his private training with Iwaizumi and the Riders, and when he is finally alone in his chambers. It is a smile Iwaizumi has seen more than anyone else in this world and he is selfish to think that it should belong to him and only to him.

“We came here so that we could be alone,” Oikawa says calmly as his fingers play with the hair on the back of Iwaizumi’s head. “My vows to the gods are complete. I remained pure until I came of age. Now, you can finally touch me.”

Iwaizumi’s heart nearly shoots through his chest. He swallows thickly, wishing he was out in the frigid cold instead of the springs’ warmth. Maybe then his arousal would be slowed. Now, there is nothing stopping his blood from rushing south to his cock, which fills rapidly in the water between them. He prays Oikawa doesn’t notice.

“You’ve always been bad at telling jokes,” Iwaizumi mutters.

“What makes you think I’m joking? I know the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. But I am _always_ paying attention to you. You want me. Don’t try to deny it, Sir Knight.”

How long has he wanted to touch Oikawa? He’s forgotten. Every day, he wants to touch him. Every hour, every minute, every second. He sometimes wonders what their relationship would be like if they were not prince and knight, but then fears they would never have met. He thanks the gods for at least allowing him to know Oikawa Tooru.

He will not ruin everything they’ve built, everything they’ve worked for, because of his lust and Oikawa’s impulsive decisions.

“Oikawa, this really isn’t funny.”

With a neutral expression, Oikawa brazenly reaches down between them and wraps a hand around Iwaizumi’s length, stroking firmly him from root to tip with no hesitation. Iwaizumi's teeth slam together and he breathes out harshly through his nose to avoid moaning like a desperate, lustful fool.

“I don’t see anyone laughing,” Oikawa comments lightly.

Iwaizumi grows harder and harder from Oikawa’s long fingers. Oikawa leans forward, his plush lips dragging against Iwaizumi’s cheek, heated skin against heated skin, the promise of something more, something better, something great. He's dreamt of this exact situation a hundred times, at least. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasps. His traitorous hips buck up into Oikawa’s hand. He swore he would not do this, that he would not sully their friendship and bond with his lust. “Fuck. _Fuck!_ This is a really fucking bad idea. We _can’t_. You’re the godsdamn prince.”

Oikawa shifts closer still and Iwaizumi can feel his hard length pressing against him. Gods, Oikawa is hard and right fucking there. He aches to touch him. He has dreamt of it over and over for years now. He’s dreamt of how Oikawa would fall apart below him, above him, around him, inside him. He would make him feel pleasure like he’s never known, make him moan and cry out, make him _his_.

“And you’re my most trusted knight,” Oikawa replies, his voice thick in a way that Iwaizumi has never heard before. Iwaizumi can feel the drag of his lips against his cheek as he talks, feel the air from his lungs, and it makes him shiver down to his toes. “You swore to give me your blade, your body, and your life. I have completed my vows. Now it’s time for you to complete yours. Please, Hajime, I’ve waited so long for you to be able to touch me.”

Hearing his name is what breaks him. He turns his head and kisses his mouth, holding back his lust during that first kiss. He does not know how virginal Oikawa has remained, whether or not kissing would offend the gods. He has seen Oikawa flirt with ladies of the court, both younger and older, seen him kiss their hands and dance with them at galas. He has never seen him kiss one. He has never asked.

If this is his first kiss, Iwaizumi wants to make it worth the wait.

He moves his lips slowly despite his hunger, a gentle pressure that sends shivers down his spine, toes curling in the water below them. Oikawa’s lips are sweeter than the most expensive wines in all the lands. Soon, he feels Oikawa’s mouth open as one hand spreads against the back of Iwaizumi’s skull and the other stills around his length. Iwaizumi does not waste his chance and parts his own lips, pressing out his tongue to meet Oikawa’s.

Oikawa gasps against his lips and Iwaizumi can’t hold back any longer. He grabs Oikawa by the waist, fingers splayed against his heated skin, and drags him into his lap. Oikawa’s arms go around his neck as he kisses him deeply, groaning against Iwaizumi’s lips, tongue fumbling, unsure, and Iwaizumi leads him through it as best he can.

Kissing him and holding him like this feels like a dream. Why the fuck didn’t Oikawa say something until now? Did he think Iwaizumi would attack him, force him despite his vows to the gods? Or did Oikawa know he lacked the ability to control his own actions? Did he think that if he told Iwaizumi, he himself would be unable to hold back and break his vow? Iwaizumi doesn’t fucking care. They’re here now and that is all that matters.

Oikawa clings to him desperately, his hands tight in Iwaizumi’s hair, his hips grinding forward for more, his cock rubbing against the hard planes of Iwaizumi’s stomach. The warm water rolls in waves around them, splashing against their skin. Iwaizumi does not know if he is light headed from the heat or from Oikawa. All he can think about are his lips, his hands on his skin, and the little space between them and how he can get rid of it. 

Iwaizumi drags his lips away from Oikawa’s mouth and across the sharp cut of his cheek, feeling Oikawa's panting breath against his own face. He lifts Oikawa by the waist, urging him to his knees, and kisses down the flushed column of his throat to the top of his chest. Oikawa does not question it, his hands going soft on the back of Iwaizumi’s skull, allowing him to move but still holding him close.

He kisses and tongues his right nipple, wishing he could see Oikawa’s expression when he gasps and arches into the touch. He wants to kiss every inch of his body. He wants to take his length deep into his throat, then kiss him to show him how good he tastes. He wants to feel Oikawa’s body wrapped around his cock and to feel Oikawa inside of him.

“You’re skilled at this,” Oikawa says breathlessly.

Iwaizumi tilts his head back to look up at him. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought you would be more… rough.”

Iwaizumi leans forward and kisses his chest where his heart is. “Never in my life have I thought of being rough with you,” he murmurs.

“If that were the truth, you would never knock me down during sword practice. You’re a brute.”

Iwaizumi can’t help but smile. “I want to be gentle with you tonight. Let me get the pelts.” He frowns suddenly, unsure if what he wants is what Oikawa wants. “If that’s okay.”

Oikawa guides his head back up and kisses him briefly, eyes closed and lips so close they drag when he whispers, “ _Hurry_. I’m so tired of waiting.”

Iwaizumi kisses him once more because he can’t fucking bear to stop, then forces himself out into the frigid cold. He grabs his cloak on the way out, but remains naked otherwise. He quickly retrieves their sleeping supplies and checks the horses before returning to the cave. In that short period, he longs for the warmth of the water, but more for the warmth of Oikawa’s body, his hard muscles and unmarked pale skin.

Inside, Oikawa is out of the water, dripping wet near the lantern, his body golden in its glow. Iwaizumi spreads out the pelts while Oikawa watches silently, his eyes following Iwaizumi. When he’s laid out several pelts to protect them from the cavern floor, he takes off his cloak, his erection having wavered slightly. Oikawa takes notice and he steps forward, wraps a hand around him again, and kisses his neck gently.

“I want you inside of me,” Oikawa murmurs as he strokes him.

“ _Fuck_. You can’t do that with men so easily.”

Oikawa pulls back, twisting his fist around the head of Iwaizumi’s cock. Iwaizumi let outs a moan, the sound drawn from him as his hips thrust forward into Oikawa’s deft hand.

“I know that much,” Oikawa says, offended. “I asked Matsukawa since he always talks about these things at training. Hanamaki and he bought me something as a coming of age gift.”

“Something?”

Oikawa’s expression changes, his eyes darker. “Something slick that makes touching easier. I used it that night in my bed after the feast. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how you look at me. I imagined your hand on me, how you would feel inside of me. I nearly asked you to come to my chambers that night but my mind was too muddled with excitement to think of a clever excuse.”

He wonders if Oikawa knew what to do that night in his chambers. He’d never touched himself until two weeks ago, Iwaizumi thinks. How could he know what to do? Perhaps the council physician had given him a lesson earlier in life about how to impregnate a woman, but that would have been a far cry from what Oikawa is talking about. Pleasuring yourself is different than creating an heir.

Iwaizumi wraps an arm around Oikawa’s waist, urging him closer, but Oikawa’s hand does not still in the slightest.

“Did you enjoy it?” Iwaizumi asks. “Touching yourself?”

“It was the best thing I’d ever felt. I never wanted it to stop. I did it again and again until my body couldn’t take any more.”

He meets Iwaizumi’s gaze for a moment before his eyes fall to his lips. His eyes are darker than Iwaizumi has ever seen, his lips parted slightly as he breathes through his mouth. Of all the faces he has seen Oikawa wear, he has never seen this one. That’s how he knows it’s not a dream. He could never think up something like this.

“Gods,” Iwaizumi groans. “Show me. I want to see it. I want to watch you come all over yourself.”

Oikawa moans like he’s the one getting his cock stroked. He quickly kneels on the pelts and crawls towards his bag near the lantern, digging through a side pocket for a moderately sized vial.

Iwaizumi sits in the center of the pelts, the fur soft yet cool beneath his bare skin. He watches Oikawa lie on his back, hesitant to open his legs, his bottom lip tugged just barely into his mouth as he bites it.

“I want to see all of you,” Iwaizumi says, unable to look away. "C'mon. Don't lose that annoying confidence now."

Oikawa glares at him. "I could stop, you know."

Iwaizumi moves forward and gets his hands between Oikawa’s inner thighs and gently pushes outward, spreading him open. Oikawa’s cock is flushed with blood and lies hard against the fine hair at the bottom of his stomach. His eyes watch Iwaizumi, uncertain.

Iwaizumi’s breath catches in his throat. “Fuck. You’re so damn gorgeous, Tooru. How can you not see that?"

Oikawa's face flushes red. 

Finding his confidence, Oikawa slicks his palm with the thick clear liquid from the vial, a lubricant scented with oils that quickly diffuse into the air around them. Before Oikawa even touches himself, Iwaizumi imagines a similar scene in his chambers, the air smelling like wildflowers, the only sounds Oikawa’s breath as he experiences the pleasure of touching himself for the first time.

Now, he watches Oikawa rub the liquid over his cock, touching himself with both hands, his feet shifting across the pelts as pleasure spreads throughout his entire body. He’s got one hand twisting on the head of his cock and the other stroking the length, working himself like he knows what feels good. How many times has he had to touch himself to be so familiar with his body? How many times has he hidden away in his room since coming of age to do this very thing? Iwaizumi can’t imagine a life without the pleasure of his own hand and is surprised Oikawa has managed to leave his chambers at all.

Iwaizumi moves closer still and drags Oikawa’s thighs over his hips, practically tugging Oikawa’s lower half into his lap, but Oikawa does not stop. He wants to lean forward and brace his hands near Oikawa’s head and rub his cock against his until they both come, but that would mean he can’t watch the way Oikawa’s back arches, or how his neck flushes red. Another time. And many, many more times after that.

“Hajime,” Oikawa gasps, head tilted back and eyes shut like he’s in prayer. “ _Hajime_.”

Iwaizumi’s fingers dig into the thick muscles of Oikawa’s thighs but he still doesn’t stop, working his cock faster, and Iwaizumi can’t stop watching. The muscles of his arm strain in a way that Iwaizumi has only ever seen when he draws a bow. Gods, he’s never going to be able to watch Oikawa practice archery without getting hard, is he?

One of his hands travels down to his balls and Iwaizumi thinks he’s going to cup or tug himself, but his hand keeps moving down. Iwaizumi inhales sharply as he watches Oikawa’s slick fingers rub lightly against his hole. Oikawa’s moans are louder now, more desperate, the sounds seeming to echo in the caves.

“Have you reached inside yourself?” Iwaizumi asks, his voice so thick it almost sticks in his throat.

“A few times.”

“How did it feel?”

Oikawa writhes in Iwaizumi’s lap. “Matsukawa says the men he does it do like it, that there’s some spot inside of men that makes it feel good, but I couldn’t find it.” His eyes slide open. Iwaizumi meets his gaze as Oikawa asks, “Will you show me?”

“ _Fuck_."

Oikawa grins playfully. “You have done it, haven’t you? Or did you make your own vows to the gods?”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Then show me how,” Oikawa demands with that same playful grin.

He has never slept with a man. No way is he telling that to Oikawa, who will surely tease him more. He lets Oikawa make his assumption because it means getting inside the man that much faster.

Oikawa slows his hand and draws the other away from his hole, reaching to the side for the vial of slick. Iwaizumi takes it and pours some into his hand, rubbing it into the skin of his palm and onto his fingers, testing it out. It feels similar to the wetness of a woman, perhaps a little thicker.

He rubs his slick fingers along Oikawa’s entrance, watching his face for his reaction. Oikawa’s eyes are shut again, his mouth hanging open, small noises escaping his throat as Iwaizumi strokes over him. Oikawa is still touching himself, though his hand has slowed significantly as he focuses on the sensation of Iwaizumi’s fingers rubbing against his rim.

Iwaizumi sinks in his middle finger and Oikawa’s body takes it down to the third knuckle with ease. Iwaizumi curses at the sight and the feeling, Oikawa’s body hot and tight around him. He gently curls his finger up the way he does to women and begins slowly thrusting in and out like that, occasionally stopping deep inside to rub his thumb against his slick rim and watch his body twist at the sensation. Soon he feels Oikawa rocking back to meet him. He stares, enraptured by the sight of Oikawa stroking his cock and rolling his hips back onto his finger.

“More,” Oikawa demands, his back arching as he rocks back against Iwaizumi’s hand. “Put in another.”

Iwaizumi does as told, sliding in a second finger along the first. The noise Oikawa makes could bring armies to their knees it’s so beautiful.

"What does it feel like?" Iwaizumi asks curiously. 

"Strange. Thick. _Good_."

"Can't form sentences, huh?"

Oikawa's foot knocks into him. "Don't be cocky. I'm focusing."

Iwaizumi laughs, then focuses as well. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for so he shifts his angle, wondering how deep he has to touch to make it feel good. This is new to both of them and Iwaizumi would rather lose a limb than hurt Oikawa. He should have asked Matsukawa all those times he talked about the men he took to bed. Then he would have an idea of what to do.

But soon he presses up against something and Oikawa moans loudly, his body writhing at the sensation. Iwaizumi rubs there, testing out different pressures and speeds, watching Oikawa closely for his reaction to each.

“Hajime,” Oikawa gasps like a prayer, rocking desperately onto Iwaizumi’s fingers. “I’m so close to—to—"

“Coming?”

“Yes!” he says, though it sounds more like a victory than a confirmation. “ _That’s_ the word you used.”

Iwaizumi realizes Oikawa doesn’t know the crude language people use to talk about fucking. He tries to remember if he’s ever heard Oikawa say the word cock, or if any of the Riders every explained to him what that word meant when they shouted their playful banter during practice. He can’t remember.

“Keep touching your cock,” Iwaizumi tells him as he rubs relentlessly at that spot. “Just like that. Come all over yourself. I’ll lick your cum and feed it to you. I bet you taste amazing. You look amazing. Gods, Tooru, you should see yourself.”

It doesn’t take long after that. Oikawa’s body tenses when he comes and Iwaizumi can feel his body clench around his fingers, and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He rubs him through it, even when Oikawa’s hands have stopped working his length. Whenever he rubs against that spot, Oikawa’s entire body jerks and he gasps even when he’s stopped coming.

Iwaizumi grins as he watches Oikawa writhe against him, oversensitive and wrecked. Knowing he has made Oikawa like this makes his arousal even more unbearable.

Iwaizumi eases eventually, removing his fingers then leaning down to run his tongue over the plane of Oikawa’s stomach, lapping up his cum and then kissing him on the mouth. Oikawa’s tongue reaches out to meet him and he makes an unpleasant sound when he tastes himself.

“Ew, no,” Oikawa says in disgust, moving his lips to Iwaizumi’s cheek and kissing him there instead.

Iwaizumi pulls back and swallows, surprisingly unbothered by the taste, then leans back down to clean the rest away. When he sits back, he pulls Oikawa’s hips back into his lap, running his hands up and down the quivering thighs that bracket his hips.

Oikawa has always been pale and now Iwaizumi knows his entire body flushes red in the wake of an orgasm. No one else will ever know that, not if Iwaizumi has anything to do about it.

Oikawa’s eyes slowly move from Iwaizumi’s face down to his chest to his cock, hot and hard between his legs. Iwaizumi’s skin is tanner, his cock naturally darker, but Oikawa doesn’t seem to find that strange at all. Oikawa licks his lips slowly then flicks his eyes back up to his face.

“I want to watch you come. Your prince commands it.”

Iwaizumi grins playfully. “Yes, My Lord.”

Oikawa laughs then kisses him until he can’t breathe.

Oikawa watches him touch himself and Iwaizumi has never felt particularly attractive during sex—he’s sweaty, grunting, and overall making unpleasant faces especially towards the end—but Oikawa looks at him like he’s a work of art. He sits up in Iwaizumi’s lap, hands running up and down Iwaizumi’s chest as he works his cock between them, eyes open the entire time, not wanting to miss a single thing.

He feels the need to last, like he has something to prove, but he doesn’t, not to Oikawa. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of his hand moving over his cock and the way Oikawa’s fingers dig into the muscles at his side, clinging to him, trying to tug him in closer. He finally comes when Oikawa kisses just beneath his ear, toes curling and a tightness in his gut expanding before dissipating. 

Then Oikawa tilts his head and kisses Iwaizumi properly. He pushes Oikawa back against the pelts and lies on top of him, his cum smearing across Oikawa’s abdomen when he arches up beneath him.

Later, they lie down together, Iwaizumi’s arm around his prince, holding him close while Oikawa lays on the pelts on his side next to him. Oikawa gently scratches at Iwaizumi’s chest as it rises and falls, causing no harm, Oikawa’s ear pressed against his heart. They're so close, Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa's jaw shift when he talks.

“I want to stay here forever, until the gods see fit to take us. I couldn’t bear to lose you, Hajime. You are more than a knight to me. Never leave my side, no matter what happens.”

“I have always been by your side,” Iwaizumi reassures, his voice sounding surprisingly gentle even to his own ears, “and I always will be.” 


	28. Ruins

When they get far enough north, Kuroo tells them there are no more villages to worry about, which means the pegasus riders can go up into the sky and see how far away they are from Fort Kitagawa. Ushijima chose Goshiki to come with them and he takes Hinata up on his pegasus, a beautiful brown and black creature with wings as large as Bokuto’s. Hinata shouts so loudly in excitement that Iwaizumi can’t help but smile from the ground.

Iwaizumi watches, wondering what that view looks like, if the world is peaceful despite the presence of a demon—untouched snow, tall green trees, blue rivers and the far-off sea.

Goshiki and Hinata spot the ruins of Fort Kitagawa and surrounding town and they reach it by the end of the day. Walking through the town is strange. There are some signs of life, wild dogs and rats, and the bits and pieces people left behind. Most of the people died of starvation or the cold during one hard winter, Kuroo says, the others moving out and the kingdom abandoning the fort.

“It’s like a ghost town,” Hinata says, turning his head every which way, like he expects something to jump out of him like this is a ghost story.

Demons are the things of stories, too, Iwaizumi reminds himself.

“Scared?” Kageyama taunts.

“You wish!” Hinata replies, but he sticks close to Kenma anyways and those two have become so close that Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s still scared or just wants to be near him.

They have their own rooms again and the privacy is nice, but it’s still always easy to find someone. They occupy the same area of the fort, no one too far out of reach, and the fall into daily routines—set up snares in the surrounding forest, cook, clean, train, and repeat.

And once they’ve settled in, and Akaashi had reported that his people were victorious and took the Southern Fort, they sit down to make their plans.

“What can you tell us about the Riders?” Ushijima asks.

He knows so much about the Riders that he doesn’t know where to start.

“They’re trained in every weapon the knights are trained in, but all favor one weapon type. Matsukawa uses an axe. He’s best at blocking incoming attacks and countering. You need to be fast to get a hit on him. If that doesn’t work, you need to catch him off guard.”

He knows Matsukawa is the bastard son of a nobleman, born to a prostitute and raised in a brothel but fortunately not sold, running away when he was ten and never looking back, though he still sends money every month to a woman in a town on the coast that Iwaizumi suspects is his mother. He met Hanamaki some years after running away and they traveled between towns and farms in the middle of nowhere doing hard labor for little pay before honing their skills and becoming sellswords.

“Hanamaki uses a lance. He looks skinny, but he’s surprisingly strong and it’s hard to knock his lance away or knock him off balance. If he’s with Matsukawa, they can take down an enemy in seconds.”

He knows Hanamaki was raised in an orphanage that lacked the money to pay for all the children it housed and that he ran away when he was twelve so they could feed another mouth more easily. He has a soft spot for children and all the beggars in Seijoh know he will give them a coin or some food if they come up to him in the streets. He’ll hurt anyone that hurts them and since he came to Seijoh, no one touches the children on the streets.

“Kindaichi uses a sword. He’s tall with long reach and on top of that, he uses a longsword. You have to get close to him to attack, but that’s nearly impossible.”

He knows Kindaichi has burns on his arms and hands from hot molten iron splattering up against him as a child in his father’s workshop. There’s a fruit stall in Seijoh’s main market that always sets aside two pomegranates from Shiratorizawa every Saturday, one for him and one for Kunimi, and they eat them when Kindaichi goes to visit his father in the upper layer.

“Why is it hard?” Hinata asks.

“Because he’s always with Kunimi, a mage. If Kunimi is casting spells, Kindaichi protects him. If Kindaichi is attacking, Kunimi keeps his enemies at a distance. Kunimi probably has a better sense for battle than I do. He’s been raised to kill since he was a child. He was sent to kill Oikawa when we were younger but he failed.”

He knows Kunimi was raised an assassin. He can turn a knife every which way in a show of power, but can’t cut bread straight to save his life. He walks silently and hides most of his emotions, except for around Kindaichi. He knows Kunimi still can’t look at the four tiny scars on Kindaichi’s back from when he was repeatedly stabbed, even if he was the one that cast the spell that saved his life, and that he will never forgive Kageyama for being the cause of those stab wounds.

“Many knights have challenged them for a spot on the Riders, or just to accompany us on a journey, but no one has beaten them in one-on-one combat. They’re stronger than the knights of Aobajousai and if they’re under a spell like Kuroo says, they won’t feel pain. Short of killing them, nothing will stop them.”

“Then we kill them,” Ushijima says simply.

Iwaizumi’s stomach grows hard and heavy. I can’t, he almost says, but knows that he can. He can, but he doesn’t want to. Just the thought makes him sick to his stomach.

He glances at Kageyama, who frowns but does not say anything.

“It sounds like it’ll be best to separate them, if we can,” Azumane says.

“I don’t know how they’ll be positioned in Seijoh,” Kuroo says. “The southern entrance will be fortified against Princess Michimiya’s force coming from the south, but they could position themselves inside the castle any number of ways.”

“When the Riders helped me escape from the dungeons, they took me through a path even I didn’t know existed,” Iwaizumi says and it feels like a betrayal. These men saved him from his imprisonment, had saved him countless times before. Now, he plots to take them down. “It’s on the west side of the castle and lets out straight into the forests.”

Kuroo makes a noise. “I think I know which one you mean. It’s one of the old guards’ tunnels. It hasn’t been used in maybe thirty years, before the guards’ routes were changed.”

“Then we will ride the pegasi to the western forest, away from the castle to avoid detection, and then make our approach on foot,” Ushijima declares. “Once we enter the castle through this tunnel, Akaashi will alert the others to begin their approach.”

“Then they’ll be focused on the larger force and won’t expect us attacking from inside,” Azumane surmises.

Ushijima nods.

Iwaizumi looks to the mages of the group. “I don’t know what spell it is, but Kunimi could do this thing where he could hold someone still, like he was tying them with invisible rope.”

Kageyama shifts and Iwaizumi remembers that Kunimi did that to him on the day they first met. Kageyama had been so young then. They had all been so young.

“Kenma used a spell like that against Kuroo when he was possessed, right?” Hinata asks.

Hinata looks eagerly at Kenma, who nods. “You have to maintain eye-contact with the one you’re binding. You can’t even blink.”

“I know it in theory,” Kuroo says. “It’s an elemental based spell that works by manipulating the air. I’ve never really had a chance to practice it.”

Hinata looks to Tsukishima, who grumbles, “I have no idea what you guys are talking about.”

“It might be helpful in some situations,” Kuroo says. “Tsuki and I can learn it together, then. Kenma can teach us.”

Kenma makes a face, clearly unhappy about the idea of putting in the effort, but nods anyways.

“Kunimi will be the most difficult to deal with,” Kuroo adds. “It’ll be good to have a few ways to subdue him.”

“We already know the path we’re taking through the castle,” Ushijima says. “If we can take out the enemy commanders, their forces will crumble, allowing our allies to overwhelm them.”

It’s a good plan. Not without its flaws, but good. It may just work.

Iwaizumi still doesn’t know if he wants it to.

 

* * *

 

Hinata falls into a familiar routine as they wait to fly across the sea and take back Seijoh. Wake up, help with chores, try to cook once and be banned from it, eat, train, and sleep. When he wakes up, he sometimes thinks he’s back at that old, run down in Miyagi with the rest of the Ukai Mercenaries until he feels the chill on his nose, the fire in his room having died during the night, and he remembers only a fraction of the mercenaries are down the hall.

He doesn’t mind Fort Kitagawa, but he does miss seeing grass.

Today is a warmer day, which means he only needs three layers instead of the usual four. For breakfast they eat rabbit from the snares Kageyama set up the other day and some type of oat they had brought with them with berries from some bushes Hinata and Kenma found on one of their walks in the forest outside the fort.

Under the warm sun, Hinata sits on top of the fort along the way, legs dangling over the surprisingly tall edge. He wonders if he could jump down, or if legs would break. If Sugawara was there, he might just try, but Sugawara is off with the princess, and Sawamura, and Ukai on the other side of the kingdom.

Down in the courtyard, Iwaizumi and Kageyama are sparing. He watches, entranced, because he never really knew Kageyama could use a sword. He’s surprisingly good at it. Hinata can’t help but feel irritated and impressed.

“Can I sit here?”

Hinata startles, flailing as he turns. Kenma stares at him, arm half reached out to grab ahold of Hinata in case he fell off, but Hinata rights himself and clings to the stone edge. Embarrassed, Hinata turns as red as his hair.

“Y-Yeah!”

Kenma wipes away some of the snow and sits down crossed-legged next to him, wrapping his fur-lined cloak around him like a blanket until only his head is visible. Hinata laughs, which makes Kenma give him a weird look, but Kenma doesn’t say anything about it. Even when Hinata has stopped laughing, Kenma looks at him for a moment longer before looking down at the courtyard.

“Did he tell you?” Kenma asks.

“Did who tell me what?”

“Kageyama. About what Kuroo said when he was possessed.”

“I told him it didn’t matter. I mean, I want to know, but I don’t think he really wants to talk about it. But I think I figured it out?” Kenma looks at him expectantly so Hinata goes on, “Well, the demon said Kageyama was Iwaizumi’s soldier, right? So I figured Kageyama must have been an Aobajousai soldier that went rogue. Maybe he tried to kill the king or something!”

Kenma snickers. “Do you think Iwaizumi would be so friendly with someone that tried to kill King Oikawa?”

Hinata makes a long noise between a hum and a whine and scratches the side of his head. “Maybe not.”

Down below, Iwaizumi advances, knocking away Kageyama’s sword and pointing his blade at his chest. Kageyama knocks his sword away and presses forward, trying again.

“What was it like, living in the castle?” Hinata asks. “I never saw the castle in Miyagi. But the one Okyo was cool. Everyone was so nice! Sendai was kind of stiff and formal.”

“All of Shiratorizawa is formal. I prefer Okyo, too, but don’t tell Kuroo. He’ll never stop asking why.”

“You were only there for a little bit, right? After Kuroo and King Oikawa went crazy?”

Kenma shakes his head. “I was born in Nekoma. My parents were mages and they knew I was… special. So they took me to Lord Nekomata, who figured out who I was. He moved us to Okyo so I could to go the castle and train with him every day. One day, I was on my way there, and I was caught by slavers. I was scared and young and thought using my powers to escape would make them chase me. It doesn’t make much sense now, but kids are stupid. They handed me around and I somehow ended up in Seijoh. Nobles there like children.”

“What do you mean by—”

Kenma gives him this look and Hinata feels his stomach churn. Sometimes, he wonders if the world needs demons. Aren’t humans bad enough?

Kenma looks back out over the courtyard. “Kuroo’s master took me in and let me stay in the castle to train with him and Kuroo, but once I was old enough, I traveled a lot between Okyo and Seijoh. Okyo was warm and they had better markets, but Seijoh had Kuroo.”

“You guys are good friends, huh?”

“I owe a lot to him.” Kenma squirms, uncomfortable, his blanket-covered mass moving. He's so cute, Hinata thinks, almost blushing at the thought. “I owe a lot to you, too, Shouyou.”

Hinata points to himself and Kenma nods.

“Why?” Hinata asks innocently.

“Watching Kuroo go mad was worse than men grabbing me to put chains on me. I knew how to exorcise a demon and I also knew no one had survived it. Being around you made me forget that. And when I did exorcise the demon, and Kuroo was alive but broken, you made me forget again.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Hinata blurts out. Kenma looks at him, expression blank. No, not blank. His eyes are slightly wider, his lips tilted up just so, his gaze a fraction warmer than the cold Aobajousai air. “I want you to be happy when this is all done, too. What _are_ you going to do when this is all done?”

“Kuroo said there’s more demons.” Kenma shrugs. “If we don’t find them along the way, I guess I’ll go find them.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Kenma frowns. “You didn’t think about that at all.”

“I don’t need to think about it. I want to help you get rid of those things! I always wanted to be a knight, then I learned commoners can’t be knights in Karasuno, so I decided to become a warrior like the Small Giant. He wasn’t a knight, but he worked for Sir Ukai and the mercenaries and helped a lot of people. I want to be like him. Who doesn’t want to be a warrior that has songs sung about them, and makes princesses’ fall in love with them, or defeat the Grand King with a single thrust of their sword?”

“You want the princess to fall in love with you?”

Hinata shakes his head wildly. “No! I mean, I want Princess Michimiya to look at me the way she looks at Sawamura.”

“So you want the princess to fall in love with you?”

Hinata doesn’t make the connection.

“I want her to respect me like she does Sawamura. She made him a knight because he’s a great warrior. I want to be like that too. I want to win battles, and help people, and do good things, and have songs sung about me. I want to be a Small Giant. I've never been really strong, but I'm fast. I want my sword to to hit like a giant."

Kenma just looks at him and Hinata can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. Before he can ask, the wind blows behind them and Kenma’s hair flies into his face. When the gust passes, Hinata reaches over without thinking, brushing a strand of hair out of his face that had caught on his lips.

“Ah,” Hinata says, arm half tugged back but now frozen in place, his own face heating up. “Sorry, I, uh…”

Kenma’s eyes flick down his face—to where?—then back up to his eyes, his cheeks a little more rosy than before. Is it the cold?

“You’re very bad at reading things, Shouyou.”

Hinata frowns, finally tugging his hand back. “You know I can’t read.”

Kenma closes his eyes and laughs.

When he opens his eyes and Hinata has stopped staring at the creases in his skin, Hinata thinks he’s a bit closer than before. One of Kenma’s legs now dangles over the edge of the wall, his body tilted towards Hinata.

Hinata shuffles closer, and Kenma just watches him, eyes half-lidded and dark in a way Hinata has never seen. His eyes flick down again and Hinata realizes like an idiot: Oh, he was looking at my lips.

Hinata surges forward and kisses him.

Soft, because he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, and because if he’s wrong, he wants to be able to quickly pull away before Kenma pushes him off the fort. But Kenma does not push him off the fort, kissing him a little harder than Hinata had at first, and Hinata is very, very glad that he was not wrong. He closes his eyes because he thinks that’s what you’re supposed to do, though he really wants to see Kenma’s face right now.

When they pull apart, Hinata thinks he may just die his heart is beating so fast. He opens his eyes and sees Kenma looking back.

“You’re bad at this,” Kenma says, voice and expression neutral.

Hinata startles. All of the blood runs to his face, skin flushed and heated, and he thinks he probably looks similar to an overripe tomato. “I, um, I—”

“Don’t stop,” Kenma whispers as he leans forward, closing his eyes the moment before his lips catch Hinata’s in another kiss.

His body is stiff for a solid three seconds before his muscles relax, his entire body melting and sagging, the only pressure to be found in his lips as he kisses Kenma back. His hands sit in his lap until Kenma reaches out, holding onto his wrists and leading Hinata’s hands towards him. Hinata’s hands are drawn past his blanket of a cloak and find Kenma’s waist, fisting into the fabric of his top and remaining there even after Kenma’s hands have left his wrists.

He tugs Kenma just a bit closer and Kenma groans softly against his mouth. Hinata shifts his head and Kenma does the same, meeting him at a better angle, and Hinata thinks he may be getting the hang of this.

He’s so lost in the soft pressure and the way he can feel Kenma’s chest expand when he sucks in a breath that he doesn’t even hear someone approaching—his heart is too loud, his blood rushing like a storm, it’s all louder than Kuroo’s footsteps.

“Kenma!” Kuroo shrieks, hands going to cover his eyes.

Hinata jerks back, but Kenma remains leaning forward slightly, lips kissed slick and pressed out just a bit more in a way that makes Hinata want to kiss him again despite Kuroo’s presence. Hinata realizes he’s still gripping Kenma’s waist and quickly draws his hands back.

“My virgin eyes!” Kuroo cries dramatically.

Kenma gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re not a virgin, Kuroo.”

Kuroo lowers his hands, revealing his face. “You don’t know that.”

“I walked in on you and the stable marshal’s nephew because you forgot to lock your door.”

“I was still pure!”

Kenma sighs. “What do you want?”

More serious, Kuroo says, “You’re supposed to teach Tsuki and me that binding spell.”

Kenma sighs again. He stands, and Hinata wants to reach out and stop him, but he doesn’t.

“We’ll talk later, Shouyou,” Kenma says, smiling just barely.

Hinata is thrust back into reality. He hadn’t even known he’d left. For a moment, all that existed was them. Now, the war is here, and they wait in this fort to hear word of their comrades’ victories, and then they will go to battle where they may die all to defeat a demon and reclaim Princess Michimiya’s home, his home. His sword scabbard suddenly feels very heavy.

Kenma walks ahead of Kuroo, who looks over his shoulder.

“Shorty,” Kuroo says. Hinata jerks to attention. “Thanks for looking out for him. Not that he needs it, but still.”

Kenma gives Kuroo a look. “Stop interfering. It’s annoying.”

“I’m being kind,” Kuroo argues, looking away from Hinata.

“You’re being nosy.”

The two walk away to train and Hinata realizes he must do the same. He rises to his feet and shouts down to the courtyard, “Kageyama, let’s spar!”

Kageyama’s head turns and Iwaizumi makes his move, shoving Kageyama to the ground.

“What the hell, Hinata!” Kageyama shouts from the ground, voice strained.

Hinata grins and runs, eager to train. He’ll become a warrior, just wait and see.

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima is fine with being made to practice the same spell day in and day out. It may be the one thing that keeps them alive. So he’s okay with putting in the effort, and seeing that man every day, but that does not mean he wants to come back to his room and see him more.

It’s so easy to find privacy in a fort this large, even if they do all occupy the same area. Their rooms all border one another and they spend their time in the same spaces they cleaned out when they first arrived. There should be no reason for Kuroo to be in his room.

“What are you doing here?” Tsukishima asks, glaring at Kuroo, who is sitting on his bed with a book in his lap.

“Am I not allowed to spend time with you?” Kuroo asks mirthfully. “Aren’t you flattered I decided to spend my free time with you?”

“Kenma left you for Hinata, didn’t he?”

“Kenma left me for Hinata,” Kuroo confirms. “ _But_ I do like spending time with you, Tsuki.”

Tsukishima closes the door behind him and goes to add another log to the fire that has become nothing but smoldering embers. He stands and backs away from the fire, sitting on the other side of the bed and rubbing at his hands, sore from holding a wooden staff. Kuroo remains quiet, a strange thing, appearing to read his book.

Curiosity gets the best of Tsukishima. “What are you reading? I didn’t know you brought books with you.”

“I couldn’t sleep and was walking around and found it in a part of the fort we haven’t been using. It’s on old battles. Not really my area of expertise, but a book is a book.”

Tsukishima looks at him and the way he won’t look back. Clearly he just admitted something that was hard for him and it takes him a second to figure out what.

“You’re not sleeping, are you?”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re accusing me of a crime,” Kuroo jokes with a forced smile.

“Any day now, Akaashi could come and tell us it’s time to move. It’s bad for us all if you’re not in top condition. Ask Kenma to put you to sleep next time.”

Kuroo frowns, thumb rubbing along the edge of his book, and he finally looks at Tsukishima. He hadn’t noticed it earlier at practice, but Kuroo’s eyes are sunken, the whites of his eyes made brighter by the dark underneath.

“Have you ever been put to sleep with one of those spells?” Kuroo asks.

“No,” Tsukishima admits.

“You don’t dream. Which for me is fine. I’ll take nothing over nightmares. But the worst part is when you wake up, your body is rested, but your mind isn’t. You don’t have any motivation, but you can’t sit still either. You want to sleep all day, but you can’t.”

“You need to sleep,” Tsukishima says, no harshness to his voice, surprising even himself. Kuroo seems unphased by how _gentle_ he just sounded. Then again, Tsukishima often finds himself speaking in an oddly gentle way around Kuroo. Not because he’s sick but because he can’t bring himself to be viciously cruel.

“I feel like I could fall asleep right now,” Kuroo says, tiredness heavy in his voice. “But I’m trying to stay up a bit longer. If I fall asleep now, I’ll end up missing dinner and waking up at some ungodly hour before sunrise.”

“Take a nap, then.”

Kuroo is quiet for a few seconds then slowly grins in a way Tsukishima knows means nothing good. He’s about to say something to stop Kuroo, but the man is already moving, closing his book and lying down, head on Tsukishima’s pillows and legs thrown over Tsukishima’s lap.

“I think I might, Tsuki,” Kuroo says, grin still in place, “as long as you promise to wake me up for dinner.”

“I should let you starve.”

“But you won’t.” Tsukishima does not argue. They both know he would be lying. Kuroo lifts his head and looks at him, grin gone, completely serious now. “I can leave, if you really want me to.”

But I don’t think you want me to, Tsukishima hears though Kuroo doesn’t say it. He hates how this man that sees figments and demons and things that aren't real can see right through him.

Tsukishima reaches over, grabs the book Kuroo had discarded, and sets it on Kuroo’s legs. Kuroo puts his head back into the pillows and curls onto his side, knees knocking into Tsukishima's ribs but he hardly cares. The warmth of Kuroo's body makes him feel heavy and comfortable, calm in a way he so rarely is when he is constantly thinking of and training for a battle that may be his last.

When it comes time for dinner, Tsukishima is halfway through the book and Yamaguchi comes in without knocking. “Tsuki, dinner is—"

Tsukishima puts a finger to his lips when Yamaguchi spots Kuroo.

Carefully, Tsukishima moves Kuroo’s legs off of him and stands. Whatever is playing in Kuroo’s head must be more dream than nightmare because the man’s face is relaxed, not a trace of worry or fear. He looks like such a different person like this. He almost looks—

“Dinner!” Hinata bellows from down the hall.

Kuroo’s brows pinch together and his eyes open. He looks at Tsukishima, then his eyes flick over to Yamaguchi, his expression becoming more confused than anything else.

“Wha—?” Kuroo murmurs, still half asleep.

“You drool in your sleep,” Tsukishima says flatly. “It’s time for dinner. Get up.”

Kuroo groans and buries his face into Tsukishima’s pillow. “Five more minutes.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, grabs Kuroo by the shoulder, and rolls him until he falls off the bed. Kuroo scrambles, trying to grab on, managing to keep a single leg and a hand on but the rest of his body crashes to the floor. He makes a panicked noise like a bird and Tsukishima bites the tip of his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

“Get up,” Tsukishima repeats, assuming not even Kuroo could go back to sleep after that.

He walks out of the room into the hallway, Yamaguchi following him. As they walk, he glances down at Yamaguchi, who is looking at him strangely.

“What?” Tsukishima asks, voice sharp and defensive.

Yamaguchi smiles. “It just looked like you were having fun.”

Tsukishima scoffs.

But he doesn’t deny it.

 

* * *

 

When Akaashi comes with news of victory at the Northern and Western Forts, they know it will be time to move soon. It will take a few weeks for the others to regroup and march towards Seijoh, but then there’ll be no more waiting.

Iwaizumi is so very tired of waiting.

He sits in one of the towers, the windows there large and clear, and looks out at the ocean. They’ve practiced riding behind the pegasus riders a few times now and while Iwaizumi is used to traveling in many forms—foot, horseback, boat, carriage—he does not think he’ll get used to flying before they’re to take Seijoh. He thinks he would make a horrible changeling and that Oikawa would probably like flying more than him.

He hears the door open and turns to look, seeing Ushijima, who comes and sits next to him silently. Iwaizumi lets them sit in the silence. Every other encounter with Ushijima seems to lead to him asking about the Riders and how they fight and what their weaknesses are, and Iwaizumi is glad to provide the answers even if it leaves him feeling sick the rest of the night.

He wonders what Ushijima will ask today. Iwaizumi thought he would be out of questions. Is it better to take on Matsukawa or Hanamaki first? What are their blind spots? What spells could Kunimi cast if they tore his staff from their hands? Where do they hide their knives?

When Ushijima finally asks his question, it is not what he’s expecting.

“How did you come to terms with the fact that you will be going against your home and your king?”

Iwaizumi’s gut instinct is to scoff and tell him to fuck off, which he does, but then Ushijima keeps looking at him, patiently waiting for a real answer. Iwaizumi doesn’t want to give it to him. He feels like he’s talked to so many people about this for so long, ever since they discovered who really was back in Nekoma.

“I haven’t,” Iwaizumi replies lowly, “but like I’ve told everyone else, there isn’t a choice. That _thing_ is not Oikawa. And without Oikawa on the throne, this place is not my home.” He gives Ushijima a hard look and the man does not waver, not that Iwaizumi expected him to. “Why?”

“There are many things I have been taught,” Ushijima says, looking away out over the snowy hills and thick green forest. “I was taught to fight. I was taught the gods’ words were more important than the needs of the people, that gods know better than us humans. I was taught to burn those that went against them, whether they used magic or took to the skies.”

“And I’m guessing you’re going against those things?”

“I question them, yes.”

Iwaizumi makes a noise in response, not sure if Ushijima has more to say or not. Apparently, he doesn’t because silence falls over them.

“What are you going to do about it?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Nothing while this war rages on.”

“And after? If there is an after and this thing doesn’t kill us all?”

“We will see, Sir Iwaizumi.”

“I really wish people would stop calling me that,” Iwaizumi mutters. “I’ve betrayed every oath I took.”

“I believe I am learning to think for myself and I do not think you have.”

Ushijima rises and leaves without another word. Iwaizumi sits alone and thinks back to how he met the men he must now face in battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been worried about how people will like the ending of this fic for awhile, but at least it's going to be more satisfying than the ending of Game of Thrones!


	29. The Riders I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don’t talk about ages since it gets complicated as not all characters from the same year are the same age (some vary quite a bit, others not so much; plus, I want people to imagine them however they want to an extent), but I want to for these next few chapters. At the start of this chapter, here are the character’s ages.
> 
> Oikawa: 18  
> Iwaizumi: 18  
> Matsukawa: 21  
> Hanamaki: 20  
> Kindaichi: 15  
> Kunimi: 14
> 
> So at this point in the timeline, we're pre "Reprieve" when Iwaizumi and Oikawa get together. That doesn't happen until they're twenty so around two more years.

After being a knight for three years, Iwaizumi has heard his fair share of insults. Some are meant for him, others for his fellow knights, more still for the kingdom. Iwaizumi has learned to let them roll off his back. If a knight got into a fight every time someone insulted them, they would always be fighting. A knight must know which battles are worth fighting and most aren't worth it.

Many of these people do not hate the knights or the kingdom. They’re frustrated and that is not worth punishing. It is worth listening to their grievances, the king always says, so that one day they are no longer frustrated.

But hearing the prince talk badly about the knights is something Iwaizumi has never had to deal with until now.

“I don’t trust the Royal Guard,” Oikawa confides in him one night when they are alone in his chambers.

“Why the hell not?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa spent the day in a meeting with the king’s council. He is fresh from the bath, wearing loose white pants and no shirt, face still flushed from his dip in the the hot springs beneath the castle. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi is still covered in grime from a late afternoon practice with his fellow knights.

It’s easy to tell who is the more beautiful of them, who it is the ladies whisper about when they pass by as a pair. Iwaizumi thinks he too would whisper about Oikawa if he were a lady. Instead he keeps his mouth shut and lets his eyes linger on the curve of his back, the way it swells into his ass. His eyes lingers on the tendons on the back of his hands, which are a strange combination of smooth and rough from his training and the care he gives them. 

Iwaizumi's a fair bit bitter about being in Oikawa's chambers because he was meant to go to the tavern with the rest of the knights and drink until the sun came up and Oikawa knew this. Instead, a servant came and told Iwaizumi that Oikawa requested his presence. His bitterness only grows hearing that Oikawa distrusts the Royal Guard, and no amount of bare skin and strong sharp angles will fix that.

The Royal Guards are the many knights that protect the king whenever he travels. They are the best knights in the kingdom. Every knight dreams of one day being elected to serve in the Royal Guard. It’s the greatest honor, a worthy ambition. Iwaizumi’s father had once been the head of the Royal Guard. Iwaizumi always thought that when Oikawa was king, he would be the one appointed to lead the Royal Guard. Ever since he was a child, from the first moment he made up his mind to protect his man, he had that goal in mind.

Oikawa goes on to explain, “The council has too much influence over their movements. They are not loyal to the king, but to the kingdom, and because my father is not a dictator, the council rules the kingdom as much as the king.” Oikawa paces the width of his room, chewing on his thumb in thought. “In times of unease, the Royal Guard may not know where to place their loyalties...”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Oikawa stops his pacing and looks at him, his expression deadly serious. “How can a man who follows the orders of many have one true ruler? What if the council were to grow unhappy with me when I am king and stage a coup and turn the Royal Guard against me?”  

Iwaizumi frowns, thinking about it. It seems convoluted, but not impossible. He wants to think that if he were head of the guard, he would stop that, but he knows that while you can tell people what to do, you can never truly control them.

“Then what do you want to do?” Iwaizumi asks. “Change it so that when you’re king, the Royal Guard only answers to you?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “The council will think I’m afraid of them. I can’t show weakness like that. No. I want a small force of trained men that answer to me and only to me. A new guard. And I want you to train them. You’re the only one who can match me in combat. You’re the only one I trust to train the men that will guard my life.”

“You’re serious?” Iwaizumi asks, unable to tell.

“When am I not?”

“Only all the time.”

But Oikawa does not laugh.

Iwaizumi considers this. He has been a knight a few years now and his skill is reaching beyond his comrades’. There are few that he can spar with, few that can still teach him. Most of the knights do not begrudge him for it. Those of the same skill understand his situation well. Only experience can be his teacher now.

The idea of finding the best fighters this realm has to offer is certainly tempting. And it does not really change his childhood goal. He would still lead a force to protect Oikawa. He would still be his knight.

“I get to choose these men?” Iwaizumi asks, growing excited. “Anyone I want?”

“Of course.”

“Even commoners? Women?” Oikawa nods. Iwaizumi thinks about it then asks, “How can I train them if they’re to answer only to you?”

“They will be yours, but you are mine.”

“Like hell I’m yours,” Iwaizumi says with a huff of laughter. They both know it’s a lie. Iwaizumi is his. He has always been his, even before he took his oath outside of that pond.

“You know how I think,” Oikawa says more seriously. “I trust you would not do anything I would not do myself.”

“What are you going to call them? A group like this would need a name.”

“The Riders of Aobajousai, or Riders for short. What do you think?”

“Did you come up with that yourself? It's actually good."

Oikawa lunges towards his bed, grabs a pillow, and tosses it at him. Iwaizumi merely laughs.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi does not purposefully set off to find men or women to train for Oikawa’s new guard, but he keeps his eyes open. He decides to exclude the knights from his search since knights aim for the Royal Guard, still a noble ambition in Iwaizumi’s mind. Besides, if this group is to be separate from all others, they must not be knights sworn to the kingdom and gods. These men, or women, must swear loyalty to Oikawa and to Oikawa alone.

He’s not looking for soldiers in a tavern in the middle layer. He’s here for a drink and that’s all. It’s not where noblemen drink, though the knights will sometimes venture down when they want to be amongst the people, when they want to be able to laugh and curse and drink like men instead of noble knights with an image to uphold.

None of his fellow knights are with him here tonight, though perhaps there may be one upstairs in the brothel. Iwaizumi has always found such things distasteful. Women and men forced into prostitution have not had easy lives and he does not seek to make their lives more difficult. Apparently, he is one of the few men in the world who see it this way.

So he drinks alone at the bar, the tavern maid behind it smiling at him far too much to be just friendly. He accepts her kind smiles but does not return them, not wanting to lead her on. He is not here in search of a warm body. All he wants to do is drink in peace.

But apparently, he can’t even do that.

Men come up on either side of him, one standing to his left and the other on his right. He feels the weight of a gaze behind him. Three men, then, maybe more farther back.

“Ya look familiar,” one of the men says, bits of food in his unkept beard. Iwaizumi can smell the cheap, watered down alcohol on his breath.

“Small world,” Iwaizumi says dully.  

He takes a long sip of his drink and the tavern maid gives him a sympathetic smile. Clearly these men get drunk and bother other patrons frequently.

“Wai, wai, wai,” the drunk man says and Iwaizumi thinks he means to say wait. “I know you. Yeah. _Yeah_. You’re the prince’s li’l bitch!”

The men laugh. Either they all recognize Iwaizumi, or they’re taking their companion at his word. Or, they think the idea of the prince having a male bitch is funny and don’t give a damn who Iwaizumi is. There’s also the possibility that the idea of Iwaizumi being someone’s bitch is funny. A drunk man’s humor knows no bounds.

Insults to the knights usually roll of Iwaizumi’s back. They can say what they want. Iwaizumi will still fight to protect the men who gave the insult because that is what he swore to do. But the mention of Oikawa puts him on edge.

“I’m not anyone’s bitch,” Iwaizumi replies, his voice sharp as a dagger.

The three men laugh. “That what you tell yourself when you’re taking his cock?”

“Bet you take it really good, too,” another one of the men says, slightly less drunk but far from sober. “Bite his pillow so none of the guards know you’re takin’ it up the back.”

Iwaizumi ignores them with a shake of his head, bringing his goblet to his lips to get another sip.

“Tell us, does he suck your cock like a good li’l whore before he fucks ya?” the drunkard asks as he smacks Iwaizumi’s cup from his hand. The mead pours across the bar and the cup rolls down onto the ground.

For one brief, guilty moment, he imagines Oikawa sucking his cock.

Then, before the man can draw his hand back, Iwaizumi grips his wrist, tugs his arm in front of him, and slams his arm into the table with enough force to rattle the drinks of other patrons. At the same time, he draws his dagger from the holster on his thigh and shoves it between the man’s fingers, purposefully missing the chunky digits on his hand. The blade digs into the wood of the bar with a dull thunk. 

The tavern is suddenly very quiet.

He looks over at the man, whose head is practically on the bar, and says, “You can insult me. You’re free to insult the kingdom. You can insult the gods for all I care. But you will not insult _him_.”

“The fuck is wrong with ya?” the man shouts, unable to pull his hand free from Iwaizumi’s grip.

Iwaizumi digs the blade further into the wood of the bar, wiggling it back and forth, the blade dangerously close to slicing his fingers. He leans down, close to the man’s face, and with a vicious expression says, “You called the prince a whore. Apologize.”

“Fuck, fine—I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The prince ain’t a fuckin’ whore!”

Iwaizumi pulls back, releases the man’s hand, and tugs his dagger out of the bar. He reaches into his pocket for a few extra coins, putting them down with an apologetic nod to the tavern maid. If she was interested in him before, she probably isn't now.

He stands to leave, but when he turns, one of the men has pulled out his sword.

Iwaizumi sighs.

All he wanted was a fucking drink.

The man lunges forward to strike. Iwaizumi kicks the man’s forward leg, easily knocking him to the ground. He falls flat on his stomach, sword dropping from his hand, the air gone from his lungs.

“Never lunge,” Iwaizumi says as he walks past his body. He looks at the other men. “Well? Who’s next?”

What happens next is chaos.

More men stand, others scream. Apparently these men have a lot of friends here. Some drunks not even involved begin to shout at each other. Iwaizumi has a drink thrown at him and at the same time, another charges blindly with a sword. Iwaizumi gets hit by the spray of the drink, the cheap alcohol soaking through his tunic, but he easily dodges the slow drunken attack, shoving down on their back when they run past him so they collapse to the ground.

And before he knows it, there are two men at his back, but they are not attacking him. They are pressing their backs to him, one holding a wooden plate as a shield and the other a wooden mop, their grip surprisingly similar to how one would hold a lance or large battle axe.

Iwaizumi looks over his shoulder at the two strangers. “Who the hell are you two?”

“Well, you see,” the dark-haired one holding the wooden plate says, “we were taking bets on who would win.”

“We bet against you,” the other one says.

“And lost.”

“And refused to pay.”

“And then there was screaming, throwing, threats, blah, blah, blah. Here we are.” The one with the dark hair turns and holds out his hand as Iwaizumi smacks down a man charging him with a goblet, the damn drunkard. “Matsukawa Issei. Pleasure to meet you.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t shake his hand.

“Hanamaki Takahiro,” the other says, pushing the end of the dirty mop into someone’s face then kicking their ankle when they’re distracted, knocking them flat on their ass.

A familiar feeling washes over him. He does not need to look over his back because someone is there. It’s a feeling he has with his fellow knights. Iwaizumi can't say why, but he knows he could trust these two in battle.

“How about we get out of this mess, huh?” Matsukawa asks.

They end up running upstairs, barging into a room being used by one of the working girls and a john, and climb out the window, running down the streets, laughing. 

 

* * *

 

The cacophony of warning bells wakes Iwaizumi in the dead of night.

His training kicking in before his mind, he swiftly rises from his bed and ties his sword scabbard around his waist. He has no time to put on his armor, no time to think. In the case of an attack on the castle, the warning bells ring, and each guard and knight goes to their designated location to clear the castle of any threats. The Royal Guard goes to the king, the other guards and knights spread out on patrol routes that cover the perimeter and treasury beneath the castle, and Iwaizumi goes to Oikawa.

He runs barefoot, the stones cool beneath his feet. The castle is always a little colder at night. Even with fires to warm the rooms, the hallways often suffer with no sun to heat them. Oikawa’s room is not far from his own, but with the bells ringing overhead from the tallest tower, it feels leagues away.

He’s halfway down the corridor when he spots two guards standing outside of Oikawa’s room.

“Sir Iwaizumi,” one of the guards says when he slows to a stop in front of Oikawa’s room.

“Did you sweep his room?” Iwaizumi asks urgently.

“We opened the door and didn’t see anything. We told the prince to go back to sleep and keep the door shut.”

Iwaizumi curses and slams the door open, surprised to see it’s unlocked. The guards were right to check Oikawa's room, but they should have swept it completely and then locked the door. Oikawa’s large bedroom is dark save for the smoldering red embers of the logs in his fireplace. The table is cleared of any plates and scrolls, the candles and lanterns are out, the curtains drawn shut.

The curtains, Iwaizumi thinks, seeing one move inward with a gust of wind.

His window is open.

Iwaizumi draws his sword, scanning the room, doubting the shadows, half expecting them to move. When he turns to look at Oikawa’s bed, he does not see Oikawa lying down. Silhouetted by the moonlight, Oikawa is on all fours towards the end of his bed, holding down his attacker, his weight on their hips and a dagger to the man’s throat.

No, not a man. A  _kid_.

Iwaizumi hurries over in case the attacker tries to slip out of Oikawa’s grasp, but Iwaizumi does not see how that is possible. Oikawa has his legs and his arms trapped. It’d be very hard for someone that small to break out of the hold, no matter how strong they are. 

The assassin thrashes beneath Oikawa to no avail, always careful not to press up into the dagger at his throat.

“How old are you?” Oikawa demands.

“Oikawa, what the—” Iwaizumi starts.

“Quiet,” Oikawa orders, never taking his eyes off the child beneath him, but Iwaizumi can imagine his irritated glare. “You took too long to get here and I had to handle this myself so I will be the one to see it through.”

Iwaizumi grumbles, irritated himself, but does not let his guard down. If Oikawa wants to handle this, then fine. But he will watch over him. He will not allow any harm to come to him. He keeps his sword pointed at the child, should they miraculously manage to get out of Oikawa's hold. 

“Those walls are impossible to climb,” Oikawa says, looking at the boy under him, who has finally gone still, his gaze cool and unreadable. “I would know, I tried as a child. The stones are so slick and smooth there are no finger holds to climb. How did you get up here?”

There is no answer.

Magic, Iwaizumi realizes, certain Oikawa is coming to the same conclusion.

Oikawa says, “If you have comrades in this castle, whatever their goal is, they are going to fail. They are going to die. And we will track down any remaining members of your organization and they too will die. Do you believe me?”

The boy meets his gaze. “Yes.”

“Good. Now, there are two ways this could end. One, I cut your throat and ruin my favorite pelt. Or, two, you work for me. Mages can be very useful and not many practice the art in this kingdom.”

“Oikawa—”

“Well?” Oikawa prompts, cutting off Iwaizumi. “What do you want to do—oh, I forgot to ask your name. How rude of me.”

Silence.

Then, “Kunimi.”

Oikawa smiles, eyes shining with the small victory. “And what have you decided, Kunimi? Do you want to live and serve me, or do you want to die?”

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t plan to meet Matsukawa and Hanamaki again, but they seem to make a habit of it. And each time, it seems to involve a fight, or alcohol, but usually both.

There’s one time where Iwaizumi walks past Hanamaki, who is in the stocks for calling one of the more arrogant knights “a pompous cockhead,” and Matsukawa is sitting nearby watching as his friend is pelted with half-rotten fruits and vegetables. Iwaizumi manages to get him out of the stocks and buys him a drink because that knight _is_ a pompous cockhead.

There’s another time where he finds Matsukawa climbing out of a third-floor window of a building in town stark naked because the husband of the woman he had been fucking had come back unexpectedly. Clothes are thrown out the window after him and Iwaizumi calls out to him, laughing as the man climbs down a tree naked as the day he was born, pants in hand, shameless.

And one night, shortly after Kunimi is taken to the dungeons for attempting to assassinate the crown prince, Iwaizumi meets them again at that same bar they had first met. Only this time, he has met them on purpose, for a drink and good company. Before Iwaizumi even realized it, the two had become his friends. Not in the way he is friends with knights, but true friends, the way he is with Oikawa. 

The bar is only half-full this time of day, most patrons coming in as the sun sets. No one plays the lute in the corner, and the bar maiden comes to check on them often, refilling their cups with a smile. It still smells the same, like old alcohol and wet wood, but it's quiet enough to have a conversation without shouting. 

They've downed two cups each and have devoured a full platter of meat and bread when Hanamaki asks, “What was up with all those bells at the castle a few nights ago? I could hear 'em all the way in the lower sector.” 

Iwaizumi makes a non-committal, vague noise that gives no real answers.

“I saw ‘em carrying bodies out to be burned,” Matsukawa adds. “Thieves, or something?”

“Assassins,” Iwaizumi says. “For the royal family.”

“Damn,” Hanamaki says lowly. “Guess no one important got hurt or we would have heard about it.”

“No. They killed a few guards on their way in, but the royal family was unharmed. We think there’s more in their group that are hiding out somewhere, maybe in the mountains. They're planning a quest to find them and they’re interrogating the only survivor as we speak.”

“In all my years of pissing off noblemen and knights, and it has been a fair number of years,” Matsukawa says loftily, which makes Hanamaki and Iwaizumi grin, “I’ve never been tortured. Bet you all have horribly creative ways to pry information out of people.”

Iwaizumi’s expression turns grim. The king does not like such things, especially in a time of peace. They have kept criminals in the dungeon beneath the castle, but criminals worth torturing are rare. He can count the number of times the royal family has had a prisoner worth torturing within his life on his fingers. Oikawa once told him how these things were done, when they were children and acts of pain were an abstract idea instead of a tangible, lived experience they could sympathize with.

Iwaizumi shudders just thinking about the things humans are capable of.

“What do they do?” Hanamaki asks with morbid curiosity. “Cut off their fingers, deprive ‘em of food?”

“They’re not torturing him. He’s a fucking kid. Says he’s fourteen. Looks like it too.”

“Fourteen?” Matsukawa asks, shocked. “I can’t imagine a kid being an assassin. At least not a very good one.”

“He had no choice. He was just doing what his parents told him, apparently.”

“So he’s talking?”

“Didn’t have to. His parents were sent for the king. Right before they were killed by the Royal Guard, they said their son would have killed the king’s.”

Iwaizumi drums his fingers against the table they’re sitting at. He needs another drink. He needs many, many more drinks. If Kunimi had been more skilled, had been older, faster, stronger, he would have been able to kill Oikawa.

As a mage, he should have been able to kill Oikawa when he was pinned. His staff had been knocked away, but he still should have been capable of a simple cutting spell. Mages didn't need staves to cast simple spells like that. Iwaizumi still doesn’t understand why he didn’t kill Oikawa when he had the chance.

Maybe he didn’t want to kill him. Maybe he didn’t want to kill anybody.

“Oikawa is interrogating him.”

“The crown prince?” Hanamaki asks, unsure.

“I wouldn’t call the king by just his name,” Iwaizumi says with a grin, close to laughing at the mere idea of doing such a thing. “Nor would I call Princess Hatsue or Prince Takeru by just their names.”

“Hard to know,” Hanamaki says with a shrug. “You’re weird for a knight. You’ve got special privileges with the crown prince and all.”

“Can we go back a moment?” Matsukawa asks. “Why is Prince Oikawa interrogating the assassin that tried to kill him?”

Iwaizumi sighs heavily. He really does need another drink. “Because Oikawa is Oikawa.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki look at him, not understanding, but Iwaizumi does not know how to else explain it.

 

* * *

 

When Iwaizumi returns to the castle, he hears from a servant that Oikawa was seen going down to the dungeons again so down to the dungeons he goes. He takes several staircases, each going deeper, until there are no windows and the air is damp. He hears Oikawa’s voice from some distance, voices and noises traveling far in these grim halls. When they were kids, they would explore these halls for fun. Now that they’re older, they only come down here when necessary; Oikawa hates these dark walls and prison cells.

“Hello again, Kunimi,” Oikawa says sweetly. “How are you doing?”

“Why haven’t you killed me?” Kunimi asks. “I’ve killed people. I tried to kill you.”

Iwaizumi halts just around the corner and listens, back to the wall and arms crossed.

“How many people have you killed, Kunimi?” Oikawa asks in return.

No hesitation: “Thirty seven.”

“Do you want to guess how many I’ve killed?” No response. “Thirteen. Not as many as you, but still more than most people. Do you think I should be killed?”

“There’s a difference between killing someone in defense and assassinating the crown prince.”

“Is there?”

“I don’t like these games, Prince Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi can imagine Oikawa’s pleasant, overly fake smile when he says, “My father wants to kill you. I don’t agree. Not because you’re a child, or I feel pity for you, or anything like that. You didn't kill me when you could have. And we both know you could have. So, I don’t think you enjoyed it—killing, that is. I think you just did what you were told. If you killed thirty seven people, you must be very good at doing what you’re told.”

“Is that why you want to use me?” Kunimi asks dully.

“It’s why I want to help you,” Oikawa argues, though his voice is perfectly level. “If you serve me, I will make you a better person. I will show you that your powers can do more than harm people, that they can help people instead. That’s all I want to do, help people.”

Kunimi does not respond.

“The only way you leave this city alive is if you tell us where the others are hiding. Tell us where the rest of your group is and I promise you, no harm will come to you.”

There is a long moment of silence. Iwaizumi wonders if Oikawa will just give up, if Kunimi will stay loyal to the people that raised him, that trained him, that fed him and ordered him to do horrible, horrible things. 

But then, he hears: “The Forest of Giants to the west of the Summit of Ice.”

“How many are there?”

“A dozen.”

“Sir Knight,” Oikawa calls out. “Did you hear that?”

Iwaizumi steps out from around the corner. He doesn’t know how Oikawa knew he was there, but he isn’t surprise either.

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“I’ll need to get the council to approve, but you’ll be leading the force. Pick which men you like. Take twenty.”

Iwaizumi peers into the cell at Kunimi. He really is just a kid. His loose, rough tunic falls off his shoulder. His eyes look sunken. Heavy metal chains wrap around his skinny, bony wrists. A kid doesn’t belong in a jail cell.

“You know if you’re wrong, or lying to us,” Iwaizumi warns Kunimi, “you’ll be killed.”

Kunimi’s eyes bore into him with a confidence that says, _I won’t be wrong; I will not die here,_ and Iwaizumi understands why Oikawa wants this boy to serve him.

 

* * *

 

Mages are rare in Aobajousai and Iwaizumi can count on one hand the number of times he has encountered a mage on a quest. Those few times, it has led to serious injuries and numerous deaths. The knights aren’t as well versed in fighting mages or countering their many spells. 

So when he leads a group of knights to eradicate a group of assassin mages, he expects a fight and a fight is what he gets. Kunimi’s information was accurate and they find a camp of a dozen mages in the forests to the southwest. Iwaizumi's right arm is badly burned by a plume of fire, but he is still better off than the man that lost his leg, severed like it was weak as fabric, and he is far better than the six that lost their lives. Still, no mage escapes, and when they burn their comrades, they pray the gods see them kindly to afterlife since they sacrificed their lives to protect the royal family as they pledged to do. 

When they return to the castle, Kunimi is immediately released from his shackles, but he is not set free. He is still a prisoner, a mage that tried to assassinate the crown prince, and no one is stupid enough to forget that, not even Oikawa. The council is even more cautious after seeing the injuries the returning knights bared. Magic is a frightening thing in a kingdom where it is scarce. 

The first time Kunimi is released from the dungeon beneath the castle, it's to join Iwaizumi through the upper layer while he runs chores for Oikawa. It’s a trial run, Oikawa had told him, to see if the once-assassin can be trusted at all or if they will have to put him down. Like a dog, Iwaizumi thinks when Oikawa tells him this calmly. He thinks the dehumanizing choice of words makes it easier for Oikawa to talk about this boy, who may still be executed if he cannot be trusted. Oikawa says he would be fine executing a child, but Iwaizumi sees right through that lie. He thinks Kunimi sees through it too.

Kunimi walks alongside Iwaizumi, who looks down at the list of things Oikawa has asked of him. It’s a short list, things usually done by servants—picking up new tunics from the tailor, seeing the furrier that turns Oikawa’s hunts into pelts, and picking Oikawa’s sword from the blacksmith where it was being sharpened. There’s a final line scribbled on the bottom, something about sweet pastries from a baker he likes. Iwaizumi doesn't know whether to smile or roll his eyes at Oikawa's scribbled note. 

They stop by the blacksmith first since it is the farthest from the castle. There is only one blacksmith used by the royal family, known as the royal blacksmith, though it is not an official title, and many other men work under him. He also services the knights and other noblemen from Seijoh. A commoner by birth, he has refused to move into the castle, saying he prefers to live amongst the people, even if he does live in the prestigious upper layer. 

As they approach, they see the head blacksmith tending to an axe on an anvil outside the shop under a canvas awning. He spots Iwaizumi and says, “Unusual to see you here. Are you here for the prince’s sword, Sir Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi stops a little ways away from where the man is working and nods. “And a whetstone, if you have one. Mine needs replacing.”

The blacksmith nods, finishes what he was doing, and then heads inside his sizable shop to gather the prince’s sword and a whetstone. Iwaizumi leans against a pole of the awning, content to just watch the people passing by and keeping an eye on Kunimi as he wanders.

Kunimi doesn’t seem to have the intent to run. Rather, he’s just looking around the corner of the shop, stretching his legs for the first time in weeks and soaking in the morning sun. The first time he had seen the sun after being imprisoned, he covered his face with his hand before slowly removing it and breathing in deeply. In that moment, Iwaizumi was struck once again that Kunimi is a mere child.

“Sir Iwaizumi?” Kunimi says.

Iwaizumi pushes away from the pole and walks over to see what he wants.

In the clearing to the side of the building, a teenage boy can be seeing practicing with a sword. Their movements are smooth and sure, picture perfect, like Iwaizumi is watching the knights’ practice. There is no flaw in their form and there is some decent strength behind each jab and swing. He's tall, too, with long arms and a good reach. A longsword would make his reach even longer, though he'd have to be careful about letting enemies into his space. 

The boy stumbles when he sees he is being watched, going stiff and red.

“You’re a knight at the castle,” the boy says. “Sir…” The boy grimaces, unable to recall Iwaizumi’s name.

“Iwaizumi,” he supplies easily. “Your form is good. Are you training to be a squire?”

The kid shakes his head. “I can’t be a squire. I’m just a commoner. But I watch the knights practice at the castle, Sir Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi makes a noise, impressed at his ability to learn from watching. “And how do you get into the knights’ training ground?”

The kid looks over Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi turns and sees the blacksmith approaching. “Ah, I see you’ve met my son, Yuutarou. Surprise you haven’t met him before now, but I guess you don’t come by too often. He usually runs off when we reach the castle with deliveries to find the practice grounds. He loves watching the knights practice!”

Iwaizumi nods, now understanding how the kid could get into the castle. The royal blacksmith makes deliveries all the time.

Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s sword and the whetstone, digging through his pockets for his pouch of coins. He pays what is owed, but before he leaves, he says to Kindaichi Yuutarou, “If you ever want to do more than just swing at the air, come to the castle and ask for me. I’ll be your partner.”

Kindaichi bows as Iwaizumi leaves.

 

* * *

 

Kunimi is let out of the dungeons more and more, always under supervision of a knight, usually Iwaizumi. Oikawa soon convinces the council he is no threat to them and has him moved to a room of his own outside of the dungeon. He is not allowed outside of the castle without permission or supervision, but he may walk the castle halls freely. Kunimi ends up following Iwaizumi most places, not knowing what else to do. He’ll sit perched in a tree while Iwaizumi trains, or come along on the hunts led by Oikawa, though he has no real taste for the sport, preferring just to be out in the forest away from the castle.

Iwaizumi may begin to feel some sort of fondness for the younger boy, but he does not trust him. He can’t trust him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Iwaizumi is on his way back from the stables where he saw to his horse—Kunimi had snuck one of the apples, but Iwaizumi just grinned and pretended not to see—when a squire comes and finds him.

“The blacksmith’s son is asking for you, Sir Iwaizumi,” the squire reports. “He’s at the practice grounds waiting.”

Iwaizumi thanks the squire, who runs off to do whatever is next on his list of chores, and Iwaizumi makes his way to the knights’ practice grounds, Kunimi in tow.

“Sir Iwaizumi,” Kindaichi sputters nervously, dipping into a deep bow. When he pulls up, he looks at Kunimi and flushes red, the thoughts in his mind clear as day. Iwaizumi tilts his head down to hide his smile. Kids, he thinks, as Kindaichi says, “You were there the other day, at my dad’s shop. Are you a knight, or a squire?”

“This is Kunimi,” Iwaizumi introduces. “He’s…”

Prisoner is not quite right. Nor is ward.

“A guest of Prince Oikawa’s.” Iwaizumi looks to Kunimi to see how he reacts, but he doesn’t. Kunimi rarely reacts to things. Iwaizumi doesn't know if that's his upbringing or just how he is. Iwaizumi looks back to Kindaichi, who is still staring at Kunimi like he's a rare gem. When Iwaizumi speaks, Kindaichi’s head whips towards him. “Do you want to spare, Kindaichi? I’m free for the next hour.”

“I told you before, but I’m not a nobleman. Is that okay?”

Iwaizumi laughs easily. “You don’t have to be a noble to pick up a weapon.”

Kindaichi smiles. “Can we, then? I’ve never spared with someone before. I’ve only ever watched.”

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you,” Iwaizumi teases with a good-hearted smile.

Kindaichi nods seriously. “Yes, Sir!”

Behind Iwaizumi, Kunimi snorts with laughter.

 

* * *

 

It comes to Iwaizumi late one night. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Kunimi, and Kindaichi. They will be the Riders of Aobajousai. They will be the men Iwaizumi train to protect Oikawa’s life.

The hard part is convincing them.

Iwaizumi calls them to the castle, telling them they’re going to have a friendly spar, and they all show up. He even lays out several weapons from the armory for them to pick, interested in their choices. Hanamaki picks a lance, Matsukawa an axe, and Kindaichi a sword. Kunimi picks up nothing, his weapon a mage's staff, which he has been denied access to since he was locked up. There are war staves, which are more bulky than the staves he has seen the Arc Mage or Kuroo use, and Kunimi seems to turn his nose up at them.

Instead of sparing, Iwaizumi stands in front of them, explaining the Riders’ purpose and what they would stand for. A group of men sworn to Oikawa and only Oikawa. A group of men that would protect him and what he stood for. A group of men that can take on any challenge and win. 

“I would be your captain. I would train you, but you ultimately answer to Prince Oikawa.”

“But you aren’t the prince,” Matsukawa points out smartly. “Maybe we should just ignore you, then, if we're to answer to him.”

Iwaizumi almost grins. He had pointed out the same thing to Oikawa.

“I am his,” Iwaizumi says without wavering, no hesitation. “He controls my blade, my body, and my life. My words are his words.”

“I don’t know this prince,” Hanamaki says skeptically. “I’m not giving my blade, body, _whatever_ to someone I don’t know. Sorry, Iwaizumi, but this is bullshit.”

Iwaizumi should have expected they would resist the idea of signing their lives away to him so easily. Kunimi is the only one that knows Oikawa.

“One year,” Iwaizumi says, holding up a single finger. “I will train you for one year. During that time, you will be given rooms in the castle and will be treated equal to the knights. If within that time, you cannot agree to follow me, if you cannot agree to follow _him_ , then you may leave.”

Matsukawa’s expression darkness. “Are you forcing us to stay for a year?”

“No. You can walk away right now, but you can never come back if you do that. I’ve seen all of you fight, or at least I’ve seen the potential in you. And I know all of you wouldn’t have come here today if you weren’t the least bit interested in fighting.” No one argues with that. “And I can promise you that if you are going to fight, Prince Oikawa is a man worth fighting for. So, what do you say?”

 

* * *

 

They train just outside the forests in a grassy field near the trees, the shadow of the castle cool when the sun is high, the grass and dirt soft for when they are inevitably knocked down. Each Rider has their preferred weapon, but Iwaizumi trains them in a variety of things. He wants them be know how to use every weapon so they know how to counter it. So he teaches them all the sword, lance, axe, mace, bow, staff, and any other physical weapon used in the land. Iwaizumi does not know where their determination comes from, but he is glad they have it. They train hard but none of them complain, wiping the dirt off their faces when they knocked down and getting right back up. The small feasts after their practices, baskets of bread and meat and cheese from the kitchens, always seem like a proper reward. 

Despite being a mage, Kunimi is skilled with knives like you would expect of an assassin, and Kindaichi can help them find the weapon with the perfect grip from his skills as a blacksmith’s son. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are already so used to fighting alongside one another, so there is no chemistry to build. Slowly, what starts out as a ragtag team of fighters begins to form into a solid unit.

The first time Oikawa interrupts Iwaizumi’s training with his chosen men, the Riders fall silent. They drop to their knees and hang their heads as the prince approaches. Iwaizumi remains standing, arms crossed with an annoyed expression. Oikawa ignores the Riders completely and looks at Iwaizumi with a grin that means nothing good.

“I’m bored, Sir Knight,” Oikawa complains. “Spar with me.”

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi will not go easy on him so that he can keep face. He wonders what his intentions are for coming here. He knows he always practices with his Riders at this time and Oikawa doesn’t like to make a habit of losing in front of others, if at all. Still, Iwaizumi has no qualms in beating Oikawa into the ground as the Riders look on. If Oikawa wants to play some game, he'll play along. He has to have some plan like he always does. 

"Fine. Let's spar."

Oikawa may be better at a bow, but he is still a skilled swordsman, on par with most of the knights. Still, he’s not as good as Iwaizumi, who is a master, the best of the knights at the sword despite his young age.

Iwaizumi grabs his sword and watches Oikawa draw his own, much higher in quality but still just a sword. Oikawa waits for Iwaizumi to attack, but he doesn't make his move right away, circling around Oikawa, who follows him, watching him carefully with gleaming eyes. 

Testing the grounds, Iwaizumi aims for him. Oikawa parries.

Again, he pushes forward, striking. Oikawa blocks the blow, but Iwaizumi moves quickly. One blow, then another, Oikawa blocking them both.

Oikawa puts up a good fight, but he loses in the end, his back to the ground and Iwaizumi’s foot on his chest. They’re both panting, sweat on their skin. Oikawa has dirt smudged against his check and his eyes are shining from their short fight.

The Riders stare, wide-eyed at their prince and their captain.

“Should you treat the prince like that, Captain Iwaizumi?” Kindaichi asks in a panic. “Can’t he punish you?”

“I could, if I wanted to.” Oikawa grins wickedly. He turns his head towards the Riders, only getting more dirt on his face, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Should I throw him in the stocks, then?”

“I’d like that, Prince Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, grinning as well.

“I bet the kitchen has scraps we can throw,” Matsukawa adds.

“Stop giving him ideas,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

He moves his foot and holds out his hand. Oikawa takes it, standing and brushing off the dirt from his clothes then his face, but he only smudges it further across his skin. He looks at the Riders for the first time, pointing at each and saying their names even though they never introduced themselves.

“Matsukawa. Hanamaki. Kindaichi. And Kunimi, of course.”

“Why are you here, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi demands suddenly. “If you want to train, go find one of the knights. Sir Mizoguchi is always happy to spar with you.”

“ _You’re_ a knight,” Oikawa says, turning briefly to look at Iwaizumi before returning his gaze to the four men. “And I wanted to meet them, these Riders of yours. You talk about them all the time now. None of them helped me while you brutally beat me. Aren’t you training them to protect me?"

Iwaizumi crosses his arms. “What do you _want_?”

“I want to know the men who will one day protect me.”

“Horseshit. Why are you really here?”

“Fine. I want to spar and train with people who don’t let me win because I am the prince.” Oikawa looks back at the Riders, who meet his gaze. “None of the knights would dare to defeat me where others could see. Except you, of course, Sir Knight. If you’re training them, then I’m sure they’re strong enough to give me a challenge. They wouldn't make a very good guard if they couldn't even stand equal to the person they were meant to protect, would they?"

“You won’t throw us in the dungeons for messing up your pretty face?” Matsukawa asks in disbelief.

Hanamaki snorts. “You called the prince _pretty_ to his _face_.”

Oikawa smiles. “You can certainly try.”

Matsukawa grips the handle of his axe more tightly. He’s grinning, excited now, and Iwaizumi knows Oikawa is going to get what he wants.

“I just want to make sure I won’t get in trouble beforehand,” Matsukawa says coolly.

Oikawa lifts his sword. “You have my word.”

Matsukawa charges.

Oikawa wins.

 

* * *

 

The Riders begin to spend more time with Oikawa. Rather, Oikawa spends more times with the Riders. He visits their practices, learning more about them, and soon he is no longer Prince Oikawa, but merely Oikawa to them. Kindaichi takes the longest to drop the habit, slipping up every now and then. Oikawa gives each of them a horse from his personal stable, saying they cannot be called the Riders of Aobajousai if they do not ride quality horses and cannot fight on horseback. He takes them on his hunts, and invites them to the armory to pick daggers, and even introduces them to his father the king. 

After practice, they bask in the sun, a late lunch from the kitchen scattered around them. Iwaizumi sits with his back to a tree and watches the others. It was a hard practice, the kind that drenches them in sweat and leaves them aching the next day, but they did it without complaint (well, without many complaints). No one gave up in a fit of fury, no one even appeared to question why they were there. Kunimi would slack off a bit, but whenever Iwaizumi fixed him a sharp look, he would put in the effort. 

Oikawa sits with Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and Kindaichi while Iwaizumi sits to the side, relaxing against a tree. He does not hear Kunimi approach—no one ever does—but he feels his presence.

“You still don’t trust me,” Kunimi says, a fact. "You gave me back my staff and you still don't trust me with it."

“It’s been, what, seven months since you tried to kill him? Trust isn’t earned so easily after that.”

“Will you ever trust me?”

“I don’t know. I guess that depends if they do.”

He looks over to where the others are. Matsukawa and Hanamki each have one arm around Kindaichi and their heads are bent low, Oikawa laughing nearby. Kindaichi is nodding at whatever they’re saying and Iwaizumi almost wants to stop them because Matsukawa and Hanamaki are grinning in a way that spells trouble.

Kunimi tilts his head slightly. “They don’t care that I’ve killed people. They make jokes about my skills, asking if I can steal them food or fly them to the top of the tallest towers. I’ve never had comrades like them before.”

“Not even your old group?”

Kunimi shakes his head. “You were punished if you didn’t meet the set standards. Children that failed to learn the right weapons or magic were killed, or abandoned in forests to die. There was no use for people who could not perform. Even my parents… We weren’t…”

Kunimi frowns, not finding the word he wants, or maybe he found it and does not want to say it.

“I don’t know why you let me train like this to protect the prince if you don’t trust me.”

“Because it’s what Oikawa wants. He can see the potential in people. He’s always been good at bringing it out.”

“I think he sees me as a tool.”

“Maybe. There’s no use denying that he sees people as useful or not, but he still sees them as people. He doesn’t kill people that can’t fight. I think he believes in you, that you can change.”

“And what if I can’t?”

Iwaizumi does not answer.

 

* * *

 

When Iwaizumi decides the Riders are skilled enough, they join Oikawa when he travels to the southwest to visit a small fort. There are others knights with them guarding three carriages of supplies—weapons, wheat, cloth, and most importantly, a small fortune in gold coins. It is meant to be a simple transport job, one Oikawa leads, a small task to ease him into the more difficult things that will be required of him when he comes of age and one day, when he is king.

At least, it was meant to be simple. It stopped being simple when bandits heard word the crown prince was escorting a carriage full of gold.

They are ambushed on the trail, surrounded before even Kunimi can sense their presence. They're fast, whoever they are, which means they probably aren't amateurs looking for a quick score.

Oikawa nocks an arrow on his bow and shouts out orders to the knights to protect the cargo, telling them which formations to take, while Iwaizumi goes to his side to protect him, sword drawn and eyes scanning their enemies, which come out from the trees in mass. Twenty, maybe more. 

The Riders hesitate for only a second then see Iwaizumi’s gaze and fall into place around Oikawa, circling around him, protecting him like they're meant to. 

"So are we actually supposed to die for him?" Hanamaki whispers a little too loudly to Matsukawa. "Like, I know we're supposed to, but—"

An arrow zooms between their heads, startling them both. It makes it mark in the head of a bandit that took one step too close for Oikawa's comfort. The bandit falls, not a single noise escaping for their mouth.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki look over their shoulders at Oikawa, who has already drawn another arrow.

"You'll die for no one if you don't pay attention to your surroundings," Oikawa says, expression serious in a way they've probably never seen. It's an expression that makes enemies hesitate, that makes them afraid. 

To Iwaizumi's right, Kunimi lifts his staff and casts a spell that makes the earth soft like liquid beneath the bandit's feet. They sink, and keep sinking, their knees then their waists then their shoulders submerged in the earth. But before their heads disappear, before Kunimi sinks them into their graves, he stops. The men remain alive, breathing, but completely trapped in a dirt cage.

Mages are terrifying things, Iwaizumi thinks. 

They fight, and they win, and while some of the knights are injured, the Riders and Oikawa come out unharmed. Later, at a camp they made by the forest, they take stock of their supplies and tend to the injured.

Kindaichi is sitting in front of the fire shaking like a leaf, his gaze a thousand leagues away. Iwaizumi moves to go and talk to him, but Oikawa puts a hand against his chest and shakes his head. Iwaizumi stands back, watching as Oikawa approaches him.

Oikawa kneels next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Kindaichi’s head turns slightly to look at him, but his gaze is still distant. There’re smears of blood on his cheeks, rubbed away but not washed off.

“I’d never killed anyone before,” Kindaichi says without being prompted. Oikawa’s hand does not move, a reassuring presence. “I just—” Kindaichi drops his head, sighing. “I don’t know if I can do this, Prince Oikawa.”

Oikawa does not tell him to drop the formality like he usually would. In this situation, Oikawa is his superior and Kindaichi is looking to him for answers.

“Some men forget over the years what it means to take a life, but I think the best soldiers never forget this feeling. Taking a life is a heavy burden and it is not a decision that should be taken lightly. You have to think about why you are taking that life, what your purpose is, and decide if that purpose is worth carrying that weight.”

Kindaichi looks at him once more. “What is your purpose, Prince Oikawa?”

“To protect people. To bring peace. To create a world where, one day, killing will no longer be necessary.”

Iwaizumi hears movement behind and looks over his shoulder to see Matsukawa and Hanamaki standing there with piles of firewood in their arms. Iwaizumi does not know when they got here.

“He mean that?” Hanamaki asks, taking a step closer, voice only loud enough for Iwaizumi to hear.

Iwaizumi looks back at Oikawa and Kindaichi. “Yes. He does.”

"You really think he's worth dying for?" Matsukawa asks.

Iwaizumi smiles, though the thought is grim. "He's the only one worth dying for."

 

* * *

 

When a year has passed, Iwaizumi gathers the Riders in the courtyard where they train. They line up side by side and Iwaizumi can see the difference a year has done. Kunimi and Kindaichi are taller and all of them are more solid, muscles well trained and bodies sturdy. But there’s still so much room for growth, skin that has never been scared, skills that haven’t been considered.

Iwaizumi doesn’t beat around the bush. “It’s been a year,” he says, looking at them one by one. “Do you want to stay and dedicate your life to Oikawa, or will you leave?”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki look at each other and grin.

“I guess he’s an okay guy,” Matsukawa says. “Even if he’s all prim and proper.”

“Agreed,” Hanamaki adds.

Iwaizumi sighs. He shouldn’t have expected something overly seriously from those two, but he’s still surprised they’re so casual about signing their lives away.

“I will,” Kindaichi says. “He’s a good person. I don’t like fighting and killing, but he doesn’t either. I’d be proud to serve him, Captain Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi nods.

“I don’t have a choice,” Kunimi says.

Iwaizumi considers this. “You made your choice that night you tried to kill him and didn’t.”

Kunimi smiles, just barely. “I guess I did.”

Iwaizumi smiles more broadly. “Then that’s that. You’re the men that will protect Oikawa above all else. You’re the Riders of Aobajousai.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some fun facts about this chapter:
> 
> \-- I originally only planned on having one chapter of flashbacks for the Riders, but it ended up being three because I couldn't stop writing. I got caught up in Iwaizumi and Oikawa being happy for a change. And honestly, I could write a 50k story on the Riders and their background together. I had to cut so damn much for this chapter and the next.  
> \-- Kuroo becomes Arc Mage shortly after the Riders are formed (according to something I wrote back in chapter 16 "The Sorcerer") so that occurs at some untold point in this chapter.  
> \-- Matsukawa and Hanamaki are heavily based on Gwaine from Merlin.  
> \-- Overall, I was really inspired by the Knights of Camelot in Merlin and how close they are and their friendly dynamic and how close they are with Arthur even when he’s king.  
> \-- At first I really liked the idea of Kunimi being an ex-assassin then as I started writing this chapter and realized I would have to make them earn his trust after trying to kill the prince, I hated writing the idea but I still liked it enough to soldier on and keep it.  
> \-- “They will be yours, but you are mine” is one of my favorite lines in this whole damn fic.


	30. The Riders II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the briefest M/M sexual content.
> 
> And a reminder that if there's text in another language, you can hover and see a translation.
> 
> Also going to share ages again just to show how much time has passed since the last chapter. For some extra context, "Reprieve" when Oikawa and Iwaizumi get together for the first time takes place after Oikawa comes of age (20), which happens at the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Oikawa: 20  
> Iwaizumi: 20  
> Matsukawa: 23  
> Hanamaki: 22  
> Kindaichi: 17  
> Kunimi: 16  
> Kageyama: 14

The day Oikawa comes of age, Iwaizumi hardly sees him until the party. The prince rises before the sun and prays at the sacred pond until breakfast, which he eats while he moves, talking to council members and his father about minor details. His speech must be approved, his outfit given final alterations. There is much to do and Iwaizumi has his fair share as well.

With nearly all of the kingdom’s noble families in attendance, the amount of people in Seijoh is staggering. The knights are all assisting with guard duty, even Iwaizumi, though there seems to be some unspoken understanding that Iwaizumi will be given the night off to celebrate with the prince. When he asks Sir Mizoguchi where he should be during the party, the head knight just smiles and claps him on the shoulder.

Long tables span the length of the banquet hall and the best pelts won by the men of Oikawa’s family are moved to be displayed, if they weren’t there already—the king’s snow leopard, Oikawa’s bear, many elks and foxes and a few wolves too. The day before, there was a massive undertaking to dust every rug in the castle and the servants swat their brooms at anyone that drops a crumb on them. Oikawa’s house colors are more prevalent than ever with banners in every window.

There is no ceremony to be held. Oikawa has worn the silver crown of the crown prince since his head was large enough to hold it. His father does give a speech, though, which earns him a round of applause, and then it is followed by Oikawa’s speech, which earns an ovation.

Then, the party begins. Goblets of wine are at hands reach no matter where you turn, and there is always some music to dance too, or a jester to laugh at, or a maiden to swoon over. Iwaizumi brings the Riders into the room full of knights and noble families, and by that point everyone is halfway to drunk and don’t object to commoners taking part in the celebration.

Oikawa is too busy talking to others to join them so Iwaizumi and his men sit together in the corner, drinking and eating and laughing until their throats are hoarse. Kindaichi and Kunimi often bow their heads together in a private joke that makes even Kunimi smile wide, and Matsukawa seems determine to bed a noblewoman before the night is through, maybe more if he has his way, and Hanamaki has been eating every bit of food he can get his hands on.

Iwaizumi’s laughing at some joke Hanamaki made, one that wouldn’t be nearly as good if not for the wine in his system, when he sees Matsukawa find a moment to approach Oikawa. He hands him something, which Oikawa takes and pockets with a nod.

When Matsukawa returns, Hanamaki learns over and tries to whisper but has had far too much wine and they all end up hearing him: “Was that the thing?”

Matsukawa grins wickedly. “You bet it was.”

Kunimi rolls his eyes while Kindaichi blushes. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what they’re talking about and he almost asks before he realizes that he left Oikawa’s gift in his chambers. He curses and stands, apologizing to his Riders and saying he’ll be right back and to not get into any trouble.

“No promises,” Hanamaki replies cheekily.

He retrieves the gift then quickly returns, looking for Oikawa and finding him surrounded by a group of young women. He approaches slowly and politely, Oikawa’s back to him so he does not see him coming. The women giggle when they see him, but Oikawa continues his story, seeming to think their gentle laughter is at whatever he’s seeing.

“Prince Oikawa,” Iwaizumi greets suddenly.

Oikawa turns quickly, spotting him, and smiles widely. “Sir Iwaizumi.”

“ _Oh,_ ” one of the noblewomen says, almost in recognition. She’s young and dolled up, maybe a year or two younger than Iwaizumi and Oikawa. She’s here looking to impress the prince now that he can marry, like many of the other ladies. “We’ve all heard _so_ much about you, Sir Iwaizumi!”

“Good things, I hope,” Oikawa jokes lightly. The women laugh. “Excuse me, ladies.”

They bow to him as he leaves, walking alongside Iwaizumi towards the edge of the room and out one of the doors to the corridor. Oikawa looks around, sees that they are alone, and drops his shoulders with a sigh.

“C’mon, you should be having more fun than this,” Iwaizumi says, nudging him.

“Father isn’t letting me drink more than one goblet of wine an hour. Says he doesn’t want me to embarrass myself like he did at his coming of age party.” Oikawa eyes shine with mirth. “Have you come to rescue me, Sir Knight? Are you here to get me drunk?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “I have your gift.”

Oikawa stands a little straighter, eager.

Iwaizumi pulls out the dagger and hands it over to Oikawa, who examines the scabbard for some time before pulling out the blade. The scabbard is black with gold ornaments that match the handle, the leather smooth in the hand despite its age. Oikawa draws the blade slowly, feeling how it fits in his palm, and examines the length of the stunning blade.

“This was made by the royal blacksmith—the one before Kindaichi’s father, judging by the craftsmanship and style.” Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, a slight pinch to his eyebrows. “How did you get this?”

“It was a gift from your father to mine.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “I can’t accept this. This is your father’s.”

“My father is dead,” Iwaizumi says flatly. “And I have my own dagger. My father swore to protect not only the king, but his entire family. I think he would like it if his hidden blade could help out the prince even once.”

Oikawa slides the dagger back into the scabbard and looks it over once more.

“Thank you, Hajime,” Oikawa says quietly. “I will treasure it.”

Iwaizumi tosses an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders and says, “Let’s find the Riders and get you drunk.”

Laughing, Oikawa throws an arm around Iwaizumi’s back.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks after Oikawa comes of age, everything changes. When they return from the hot springs and he helps Oikawa dismount his horse in front of the castle, his hands linger on Oikawa’s waist for a moment longer than usual, and Oikawa doesn’t even argue about how he doesn’t need the help. He sneaks past the guards to enter the royal stables unnoticed at night, finding Oikawa there and pinning him to the wall near the tacks and kissing him until his lips feel numb. He watches as the servants dress Oikawa then proceeds to undress him moments later when they are alone, Oikawa giving no protest at all.

Two weeks after Oikawa comes of age, nothing changes at all. There are whispers of talks for Oikawa to be married to the daughter of a high standing noblewoman with vast wealth, or to a foreign princess, perhaps the second daughter of the emperor of Itachiyama. They sit apart from one another, and cannot touch one another in public beyond what they did before, and Iwaizumi must deal with noblewoman fawning over Oikawa when he stands next to him.

He wishes they didn’t have to sneak around, that Oikawa didn’t have to bite his pillows every time Iwaizumi slides inside him so no one hears, that Iwaizumi could moan like he wants to when Oikawa’s lips touch his length. He wishes he could kiss him, could touch him around others without wondering about the length of the contact and what is socially acceptable between friends.

Homosexuality is just as accepted as heterosexuality by most, but Oikawa is above him. Despite how casual Iwaizumi is with him, how familiar, how rough and blunt, Oikawa is a prince and nobleman or not, knight or not, Iwaizumi will never be good enough. The first day Oikawa and Iwaizumi met, the king told his son to always remember that Iwaizumi was his subordinate, even if they were friends.

It’s selfish of him to think they could run away together, that they could leave this whole damn kingdom behind, or that Oikawa will remain unwed until he is king and can chose his lover with little opposition. Oikawa’s father will want grandchildren from his son before he is dead, children that Iwaizumi cannot possibly give him.

Now that he is of age, Oikawa will marry for politics and Iwaizumi aches to think of the day Oikawa announces his engagement. He wonders if Oikawa will tell him first, privately, or if Iwaizumi will hear at the same time as everyone else, Oikawa’s eyes not even meeting his in the crowd. He wonders if Oikawa will tell him after one of their tumbles in his room, hurried and secret after the servants left, dirtying the sheets they just replaced.

Iwaizumi does not know what to think of Oikawa, who made the first move in those hot springs, if he is selfish like Iwaizumi or cruel because Oikawa probably knows his fate better than anyone. Iwaizumi would have been fine living his life without ever holding Oikawa’s body in his arms, without ever feeling his lips on his neck, but now that he has, he does not know if he can live his life without those things.

Maybe in another life, they can truly be together, the way the gods intended.

Shortly after returning from the hot springs, Oikawa is tasked to conduct a military inspection on the Northern Fort. It is his first real test to see if he can be the militaristic ruler of Aobajousai. He is to test the soldiers’ training regimen, the fort’s defense, their leadership, and their relationship with the surrounding city, among many other things. He will report back directly to his father, the king, and make any suggestions.

When the council suggests he travels with more than his Riders as guards, Oikawa challenges any knight to face a Rider of their choice and if they defeat them, they can join the guard. Many try and fight for the honor to protect the crown prince, but no one can defeat the Riders. It takes an entire afternoon to go through all the contenders, but the Riders never waver. The king and council do not go back on their word, so Oikawa travels with just the Riders as his guard.

Their first night away from the capital, they make camp at a forest’s edge. Their bellies warm with a meaty stew, they laugh and talk, until Oikawa decides to retire to the tent he shares with Iwaizumi. He’s tempted to follow immediately after Oikawa—he can’t tell if that’s what Oikawa intends when he runs his fingers along Iwaizumi’s shoulder before parting—but he waits several minutes to be cautious.

When he finally stands to retire, Hanamaki says, “Just keep it down, okay? Don’t go wild now that we’re away from the castle and all.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, jerking at the snicker from Matsukawa that follows and feeling uneasy by how Kindaichi’s eyes nervously watch him. As calm as he can manage, he makes his way to the tent.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa have always shared a tent. Oikawa has insisted on it since they were children. They still kept their separate bedrolls, but now Oikawa lies wrapped in Iwaizumi’s pelts and his soft wool blanket. He can tell that Oikawa is awake without him saying so by the stiffness in his shoulders that has yet to melt with sleep and the rhythm of his breathing.

Iwaizumi ties the tent shut behind him, then strips out of his boots and armor, setting his scabbard down near the pelts, undeterred by Oikawa’s boldness. When he crawls under the pelts, Oikawa’s body folds around him, arms and legs falling into comfortable, familiar positions they’ve learned during their hidden trysts in the castle and those first few nights in the hot springs.

“They know,” Iwaizumi says, feeling Oikawa’s slightly cold nose press against his throat. His lips follow it, a teasing brush, and Iwaizumi shivers.

“Many people know many things,” Oikawa replies.

“About us. Hanamaki made a comment about keeping it down and not going crazy now that we’re away from the castle.”

Oikawa nuzzles closer to him, lips pressing more firmly to his throat. “I could have told you that.” Iwaizumi goes stiff and Oikawa rubs up and down his back, pressing closer still, no space between them now. “I told you, Matsukawa and Hanamaki gifted me that vial of lubricant. When Matsukawa gave it to me, he said, ‘Takahiro and I thought you could try this out with the captain.’ Or something like that. I don’t remember the exact words.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Wait. I’m not done. It’s so rude of you to interrupt me.” Iwaizumi instantly knows he’s joking and smiles even though he’s still mad at Oikawa for keeping something so important a secret. Oikawa goes on, “When we got back from our trip, they asked how it went and I told them we were very happy with the gift. So, yes, they know, but no, they do not know.”

“Now _I_ don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

Oikawa pulls back just enough to free his head from under Iwaizumi’s chin and tilt his head back to look at him, his stunningly bright eyes visible even in the darkness of the tent.

“The whole world can know what we do with our bodies, but they will never understand my feelings for you. I will never desire to hold another. You are mine and I am yours for this life and all lives to come.”

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds, heat blooming in his body, his mind running wild with his feelings for this man.

“Please,” Oikawa begs quietly, “tell me that you feel the same.”

“For this life and all lives to come,” Iwaizumi promises.

“No matter what I say, or how I act around others, know that I’m only saying those things to protect you. My father is fine with us being friends, but anything more will be seen as a weakness. Even more so, your feelings for me will be seen as a weakness. My family does not allow for weakness, Hajime. They will take you from me and that is the one fight I will never be able to win. I know it’s selfish, but until I am king, wait for me. I will find a way to be with you.”

“Good thing I’m used to you being selfish, then.”

Oikawa tucks his head back under Iwaizumi’s chin, face against his throat, and Iwaizumi can feel his smile.

 

* * *

 

They make it back to the capital just in time for the annual archery tournament held at the end of summer. Even now, years later after the first time, Oikawa still disguises himself when he enters so that no knight goes easy on him because he is the prince. His disguises only get more elaborate with time. Kunimi is brought in for magical aide and Matsukawa and Hanamaki eagerly offer their assistance to make Oikawa as ugly as they can possibly manage, finding endless enjoyment in the task.

It’s not hard to tell who is the prince—he’s always the one winning, despite the tournament changing over time—but the people still enjoy it nonetheless, almost as much as Oikawa. People have learned that Iwaizumi knows which contestant is secretly their prince and watch his reaction so he sits at the edge of the arena and cheers for them all to not let on.

During the final round, there are several targets placed on one end of the arena that must be hit. They’re placed at different heights and depths, and Oikawa must hit one final target to secure his victory. It’s a hard shot, even for Oikawa, the target half-hidden by another. An inch off and he’ll hit a different target instead.

Iwaizumi’s eyes are trained on Oikawa so he does not see when someone else raises a bow in the crowd. He only sees the arrow zoom past Oikawa’s head, so close it almost clips the edge of his helmet.

As quick as his pounding heart, Iwaizumi jumps into the arena, sprinting forward to tackle Oikawa. Oikawa hits the ground hard, his helmet coming off, the air knocked from his lungs with a pained gasp.

Iwaizumi looks to the stands to see who sent the arrow flying and sees a man with dark hair holding a bow. No, not a man. A boy. Iwaizumi flashes back to seeing Kunimi in Oikawa’s bedroom. Why do children always get sent to kill him?

Before the guards can move to seize him, the boy’s arms and pinned to his sides by invisible rope—Kunimi’s magic.

“Stop,” Oikawa gasps, pushing at Iwaizumi. He coughs wetly as air rushes back into his lungs. “Get off of me. He wasn’t aiming for me.”

Oikawa pushes hard and rolls Iwaizumi off of him, getting to his feet. “Kunimi, release him!” he orders loudly.

The guards reach the boy just as Kunimi’s spell breaks. Two guards grab him, one arm each.

“Bring him to me!” Oikawa demands.

Oikawa shoves his bow at Iwaizumi and pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping at the makeup on his face and ruffling his hair back into its usual position. He looks enough like himself, even with Kunimi’s magic still lingering on his skin, making him more tan with freckles along his face and neck, his hair more red than normal.

“What do you mean he wasn’t aiming at you?” Iwaizumi asks, now on his feet besides Oikawa.

Oikawa rolls his eyes and points to the targets.

There, in the final target, dead in the center, is an arrow that does not belong to Oikawa. The boy had been aiming for the target, not Oikawa.

At the edge of the arena, the Riders come down from the stands to surround Oikawa when the boy is brought in front of him. The king sits beneath an awning with his daughter, on the edge of his seat watching how Oikawa handles this. Oikawa waves the other guards away, leaving the boy standing in front of them, his hair dark and eyes darting between Oikawa and the Riders, like he is trying to figure out whose legs to slip between to run away. He’s certainly small enough for it, skinny but tall despite his age.

Oikawa rips the bow from the boy’s hands.

“Who’d you steal this from?” Oikawa asks, looking down his nose at the kid, who doesn’t answer. “It’s a toy, decoration for some noble. It’s not meant to be shot. So, who’d you steal it from?”

“Some carriage,” the boy answers. “I don’t know who it belonged to.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Why is it always kids?” Iwaizumi mutters.

“Where are your parents?” Matsukawa asks.

“They’re sellswords,” the boy replies. “They left for a job and haven’t come back.”

Oikawa eyes search the boy’s face. “What’s your name?”

“Kageyama Tobio.”

 

* * *

 

Oikawa quickly arranges for a bed to be added to Kunimi and Kindaichi’s room for Kageyama when they learn he lives in an empty house in the lower sector. Iwaizumi finds it strange because from what he can tell, Oikawa hates the kid that showed him up.

All people can talk about is the boy who made a shot harder than the one their beloved prince had to make. Kageyama is the talk of the town and if there’s one thing Oikawa hates, it’s being shown up in archery. Yet because of Oikawa, Kageyama now has a bed, and a steady stream of warm meals, and a bow being made just for him and matching thumb ring to boot.

Kageyama says he’s admired the prince for years now and that he wanted to enter the archery tournament, but wasn’t allowed because he’s not of noble birth. Apparently his parents taught him how to use a bow, but he was never allowed to join them on jobs and they always took their weapons with them, explaining why Kageyama had to steal a bow in the first place.

“Does this mean he’s joining the Riders?” Kindaichi asks when he’s told about his new roommate at their next practice.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Iwaizumi says. “What do you guys think?”

“I think he’s good enough with a bow to piss of Oikawa,” Matsukawa says smartly. “But we know a lot more about Oikawa than most people. About _you_ and Oikawa. When we travel, it’s going to be one of the few times you guys can be together without looking over your shoulders.”

“You could give him a trial period,” Hanamaki suggests. “Like you did for us. That one-year thing.”

“Or, after a few months,” Kunimi says, “tell him something that isn’t true and say he can’t tell anyone and see how well he keeps the secret.”

They slowly turn to look at him.

“You know, sometimes I forget you were raised in a vicious, vindictive community of back-stabbing assassins,” Hanamaki comments lightly.

“The prince’s life is the most important thing,” Kunimi says seriously, “and Captain Iwaizumi is a part of his life.”

Iwaizumi can feel himself turn red and rubs the back of his head to play it off, hoping none of them notice.

“Oikawa’ll bring him by later in practice to spar,” Iwaizumi says. “We can make a formal decision after that.”

“Should we go easy on him?” Matsukawa asks.

“I want to see what he can do,” Iwaizumi decides after a moment. “Even if it’s not much.”

By the time the Riders have warmed up, the hilts of their weapons warm beneath their palms, Oikawa arrives with a sour expression, Kageyama trotting behind him like a new foal, bright eyed and bushy tailed. When Oikawa stops, Kageyama runs into his back, which makes Oikawa’s shoulders tense. Iwaizumi can hear his sharp inhale from here.

“Sorry, Prince Oikawa!” Kageyama says quickly.

“Having a good time, Oikawa?” Hanamaki teases.

Oikawa puts on a fake smile. “A lovely time."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa burst into laughter. Kageyama doesn’t seem to know what to do, or understand that Oikawa is being sarcastic.

“You’ll be fighting them,” Oikawa tells Kageyama, who looks over at the Riders. “You told me you’ve lived in Seijoh for some time now. Have you heard stories of them?”

Kageyama nods.

Then he knows how strong they would be, Iwaizumi thinks.

Oikawa goes on, “First one to knock the other down or put them in a bad position wins. No drawing blood.”

With that, Oikawa moves to stand next to Iwaizumi and watch. He waves his hand in clear signal to start whenever they’re ready.

From where he’s sat down with his back to a tree, Kunimi lifts his staff, casts a spell, and Kageyama is lifted into the air in a small whirlwind. Kageyama spins around helplessly, loose tunic lifting with the wind, and when the spell is broken, he falls to the ground with an _oomph_.

Oikawa smiles and Iwaizumi knocks into him, staying close, relishing the brief contact that is so rare in public. “Don’t look like you enjoy this so much.”

“He’s got an ego because he made that shot,” Oikawa says, pressing back, putting pressure where their arms touch. “Everyone is talking about him. A servant complimented him on our way here and he got all smiley and happy. And she didn’t even compliment me when _I_ won the tournament! He needs to be knocked down a peg or two or four.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, tugging away just as Kageyama is getting to his feet.

“That seemed unfair,” Kageyama says, looking at Kunimi. “How do you even win against a mage?”

“You generally need a few people,” Hanamaki says, spinning his lance in a flashy show as he steps forward. “Mages can’t stop once they cast a spell or they get some sort of feedback that makes them sick. You have to flank them. Arrows work too.”

“Oikawa stopped me when I came to kill him,” Kunimi comments, sounding bored. “Maybe you’re not good enough.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows push together in clear confusion.

Then, Hanamaki rushes. Kageyama yelps and rolls to the side.

“How is this fair?” Kageyama shouts.

“Fighting isn’t fair,” Hanamaki responds. “You win or you lose, fair or not.”

Kageyama sees a few weapons on a table and runs for it, scrambling, not staying low at all, and Hanamaki throws his lance so it flies past his head. It buries in the ground just besides the table. Kageyama looks at him over his shoulder, panicked.

“Stay low when you run,” Iwaizumi instructs from the sidelines.

Kageyama grabs a sword, but Hanamaki is there too, grabbing another spear and twirling it, the tip pointed at Kageyama’s chest. Kageyama clumsily knocks away his spear with his sword despite clearly being unaccustomed to handling the weapon. Why his parents taught him archery and not swordsmanship, Iwaizumi doesn’t know.

Hanamaki tilts his head. “Gutsy. I don’t hate it.”

Kageyama makes a stabbing motion, which Hanamaki easily dodges. Again and again, more aggressive each time, more angry each time, Kageyama tries to hit Hanamaki, but he can’t. He’s not trained well enough, not familiar enough with a sword. Hanamaki, however, is trained, and when Kageyama lunges too far, he kicks at his ankle.

Kageyama drops to his knees and Hanamaki casually circles him and puts his spear to his back. “This good enough?” he calls out.

“That’s enough,” Oikawa confirms.

Hanamaki pulls back the spear, goes to retrieve his usual lance, and walks to the side where Iwaizumi and Oikawa are standing.

“You want to go next, Yuutarou, or should I?” Matsukawa asks, looking at the younger man.

“I can.” Kindaichi takes his longsword from his hip and Matsukawa shrugs, leaning against a tree near Kunimi and waiting for his turn.

Kindaichi’s reach with his longsword and his long arms is a frightening thing. He’s gotten better at dealing when people get close him, too. And for Kageyama, who is armed with only a sword he doesn’t know how to use, he doesn’t stand a chance.

But Kageyama still tries, knocking away which blows he can while Kindaichi advances.

It doesn’t take long for Kindaichi to slide his sword between Kageyama’s arm and ribs, not cutting him, but getting damn close.

“That’s enough,” Iwaizumi calls, though there’s a fire in Kageyama’s eyes that doesn’t go out.

Kindaichi draws back his sword and looks at Kageyama. “Do you want a bow?”

Kageyama’s eyes flick to Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Can I have a bow, Prince Oikawa?”

“No,” Oikawa replies. Iwaizumi gives him a look. As Matsukawa approaches to take his turn, Oikawa says to Iwaizumi, “We all saw his lucky shot at the tournament. I want to see how he fairs without a bow.”

“You’re being more cruel than usual, y’know. Are you growing cold in your old age?”

Oikawa glares at him. Iwaizumi laughs.

It takes Matsukawa all of ten seconds to put his boot to Kageyama’s chest and shove, pushing him to the ground. He doesn’t even have to use his axe.

He does help Kageyama to his feet, though, and tosses an arm around his shoulders. But due to the difference in height, he ends up just pulling Kageyama against his side. Kageyama doesn’t fight it, looking up at Matsukawa nervously then flicking his eyes towards Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“Do I have to fight you too?” Kageyama asks nervously, but not like he would say no.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance,” Oikawa says bluntly, which isn’t false.

Iwaizumi looks at the Riders and at Oikawa and can tell what they’re thinking. He looks back to Kageyama and gives him a proposition.

“One year. If within a year, you can grow and work with these men and we decide we can trust you, you can fully join the Riders of Aobajousai.”

Kageyama nods so quickly Iwaizumi thinks his neck may break.

 

* * *

 

There’s a lot of things Kageyama doesn’t know when he joins the Riders. He doesn’t know how to ride a horse, which they discover when he tries to mount a horse bred from Oikawa’s prized lineage and falls flat on his face, barely missing a pile of horse shit to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s disappoint (and likely Oikawa’s). He does not know how to skin a deer, or put on armor, or put up a tent. He can’t do much more than use a bow, it seems.

When Iwaizumi learns that Kageyama cannot read, he takes it upon himself to teach him. Every day in the royal library, they sit with a book of stories of knights and kings and gods, and Iwaizumi teaches him the letters and words on the page.

Iwaizumi is not a good teacher. He can teach a man how to wield a sword, or an axe, or a mace, but he cannot teach a man to read. But he tries. And soon Kageyama recognizes names and words that he could not before, and he can write his own name with clumsy handwriting. When he shows the Riders, Matsukawa tosses an arm around his shoulders and Hanamaki ruffles his hair with a large smile, and Kageyama beams with pride.

One night, Kageyama points to the coat of arms on the wall of the royal library, the coat of arms of House Oikawa. There are the silver horns of a massive caribou, sacred creatures that must never be hunted. Teal and silver and pure white curl together into wisps, the design so intricate and beautiful yet Oikawa can and has drawn it from memory. Beneath the coat of arms are his house words.

“’Until it Breaks,’” Kageyama says, reading the words below slowly and clumsily. “What does that mean?”

“Every noble or royal house has words, or a motto. House Oikawa’s are ‘Until it Breaks.’ It means to never surrender, to never give up, to keep pushing until you or your opponents have broken.”

Kageyama frowns, twisting the quill in his hand. “I don’t get it.”

“You will one day.”

“What are your house words, Captain? You’re a knight so you’re a noble, too, right?”

“My house animal is the arctic wolf, creatures that were hunted from our continent but supposedly still live on the plains of ice across the sea to the north. Our words are ‘The Pack Survives.’ It means to stand together as a family, that we’re stronger together than we are alone.” Iwaizumi huffs in laughter as the reality hits him. “But there is no pack. I’m the last of my family. My father had no siblings and his father’s brothers died from illnesses and battles.”

Kageyama leans forward, almost startling Iwaizumi. “That’s not true, is it? They’re not blood, but you have the Riders and Prince Oikawa too!”

Iwaizumi smiles warmly at the young boy. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Reading may take a while for Kageyama to pick up, but there are other things he picks up more quickly. He picks up horseback so quickly he can almost keep up with Iwaizumi and Oikawa, who race ahead on a bet with grins on their faces and the winter wind in their hair. And though Kageyama lost to the Riders in that initial spar, things had not been in his favor. Kageyama had no experience in weapons outside of a bow. When he is given a proper bow and thumb ring, made by the same bowyer that makes Oikawa’s, it becomes very clear that Kageyama is different from the rest of the Riders.

The Riders are trained warriors. Kageyama is a genius.

He can hit targets that, until that moment, Iwaizumi thought only Oikawa could hit. He is not as good as Oikawa, not yet, but he will be one day if he keeps going at this rate and it unsettles Oikawa to his core. Oikawa has always been the best, has practiced until his muscles strained and fingers bled and eyes couldn’t focus on the targets in front of him. Now Kageyama’s arrows trail after his own. Iwaizumi can see the frustration in Oikawa’s eyes whenever he joins the Riders for practice and sees Kageyama with them, though Oikawa never asks for Kageyama to be removed from the guard.

“Oikawa’s going to kill him one day,” Matsukawa comments lightly during practice, watching Oikawa empty his quiver into a far-off target, Kageyama watching with wide eyes like he’s absorbing his skill through the air.

“Ten silver coins on Tobio,” Hanamaki says. “Kid’s got guts.”

“No way,” Matsukawa scoffs. “Oikawa would rip him to pieces.”

Besides his rocky, complicated relationship with Oikawa, Kageyama quietly slides into the Riders like he was there from the start.

More than once, he has seen Kageyama out with Kindaichi and Kunimi in the market, has even seen him join Kindaichi and Kunimi when Kindaichi goes to see his father. They help Kageyama learn to put the tack on his horse until he does it flawlessly, and Kindaichi is always willing to help him practice his swordsmanship. There’s one time he spots Kageyama and Kunimi feeding bits of pulled pork to a stray cat. Iwaizumi suspects they do that often, as the stray castle cats that keep the mice and rats at bay seem to follow the two wherever they go.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki treat Kageyama like a younger brother, even trying to sneak him up to the brothel once when they were at the tavern before Iwaizumi gave them a solid hard stare. They laugh good heartedly when Kageyama trips over his own two feet when chasing after Oikawa to try to get him to teach him some trick with a bow, and they quietly ask if he’s alright when word reaches Kageyama that his parents have died on the job.

Still, there are things they do not trust Kageyama with, not yet, especially when it comes to Iwaizumi and Oikawa. More than once, Iwaizumi thinks the boy will have figured it out, practically walking in one them on more than one occasion, but Kageyama is a bit clueless, it seems.

Early in the morning, in the privacy of their tent, they lie under their blankets together and Iwaizumi presses his lips lazily to Oikawa’s neck as Oikawa slowly grinds his hips against Iwaizumi’s thigh. Oikawa gasps, the quiet sound startlingly loud in the morning stillness, and Iwaizumi moves his lips to his to silence him. What sounds remains seems louder still—the shift of their clothes, their heavy breath, the gentle chirp of waking song birds outside the tent.

Iwaizumi moves his hands greedily along Oikawa’s body, feeling every grove and sharp angle, hands sliding under his nightshirt, fingers catching on the muscles of his stomach and the waist of his pants. Oikawa’s body moves with every touch, arching and pressing into it, wanting to be touched as much as Iwaizumi wants to touch.

Wordlessly, Oikawa takes Iwaizumi’s hand and slides it under the waistband of his pants. Iwaizumi’s hand brushes against his half-hard cock, but Oikawa pushes his hand deeper until his fingers slide between his cheeks and rub against his entrance, the palm of his hand covering his balls.

“Don’t breach me,” Oikawa murmurs as he withdraws his hand, voice breathless and hips moving just barely to press down against Iwaizumi’s fingers. “Just press. _Yes_. Like that. Just like that, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi grins. “Breach? Such a proper term for such an improper act, My Lord.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa orders, voice cutting off into a groan.

Iwaizumi shifts his wrist, purposefully putting what pressure he can on Oikawa’s length, and Oikawa sighs, body going soft as he gives in to the gentle pleasure.

“There’s no way you’ll come like this,” Iwaizumi says.

“Humor me,” Oikawa replies breathlessly, sliding his hands into Iwaizumi’s hair and tilting his head for another kiss.

Iwaizumi moans into the kiss. It didn’t take long for Oikawa to become a better kisser than him despite the gap in their experience. When Oikawa decides to do something, he decides to be the best at it. Oikawa is dutiful and careful with everything he does, even kissing, every bit of pressure and every gentle flick of his tongue done with purpose.

He can feel Oikawa grow hard against his wrist and the sound Oikawa makes when Iwaizumi presses his palm gently against his balls makes him moan too. He’s seconds away from holding Oikawa down by the hips and sucking his length to the root. But before he can follow through with the thought, the tent is flooded with light.

“Prince Oikawa, Captain Iwaizumi, are you awake?”

Somewhere in the background, Iwaizumi can hear Kindaichi shout, “Hey, don’t go in there!” just as Kageyama steps inside.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa jerk upright, sitting, Iwaizumi’s hand flying out of Oikawa’s pants. Even under the blankets, it would have been obvious where he was touching.

Kageyama looks like a startled deer, but there is no red to his cheeks, no sign that he’s processing what he just walked in on. He looks startled because he broke a rule, like he’s afraid he’s going to be punished.

“I didn’t mean to intrude without asking!” He bows deeply, arms stiff at his side. “Forgive me, Prince Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi sighs, burying his face into his hands, knowing that Oikawa is going to explode over this. He has every right to, Iwaizumi supposes. Not only out of fear of their relationship being discovered, but because he is a prince and whether it is his room at the castle or his tent in the middle of nowhere, you do not enter without permission. (Not that the other Riders ask permission, simply shouting their presence and something about hoping they’re decent, if it’s Matsukawa and Hanamaki coming in.)

Oikawa chucks a pillow at him. “Get out! Out, out, out!” Another pillow goes flying.

Kageyama rises from his bow and runs out.

Iwaizumi falls onto his back and wraps an arm around Oikawa’s hips. Oikawa remains sitting up and looks down at him. Iwaizumi smiles playfully, tugging on him, trying to get him to fall back and lie down with him again.

“Don’t try to get me back into the mood with that smile,” Oikawa scolds, slapping away his hand and standing. “Do you honestly expect me to come after I’ve seen his face?”

Iwaizumi stretches out. “Worth a shot.”

Oikawa scoffs.

 

* * *

 

A year after The Incident, as Matsukawa and Hanamaki call it, Oikawa begrudgingly agrees to let Kageyama enter the archery tournament despite his common birth. He says it's so no one questions his victory like they did last year, so that when he wins he will have proved he's truly the best, but Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa secretly wants the competition. Even against the knights, Oikawa sweeps the competition every year.

Oikawa does win in the end, by quite some margin, and to celebrate, Oikawa and the Riders take a trip south to a lodge owned by the royal family near a lake at the Aobajousai-Karasuno border. There is no snow this far south this time of year, the fields of grass a brilliant green, the hills dotted with tiny wildflowers of all colors, and the dark shade of the trees offer a refreshing coolness. It feels so much warmer this far south, especially during summer, and they spend many afternoons lounged in the shade with their shirts rucked up and the grass scratching their backs.

The long wooden lodge is well stocked but the servants only come every other day, otherwise staying in nearby cabins unless they are needed. It allows them some fraction of privacy while maintaining a standard of living Oikawa and the rest of the royal family is used to.

When they arrive at the lake, before going to the lodge, Oikawa veers towards the lake, the others following. They dismount their horses near a small wooden dock that has seen better days, or years, the grass nearly up to their knees.

Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, who instantly understands what he wants. They have talked about it privately at times, but now it’s time to make it public.

Iwaizumi clears his throat and the Riders fall into line, standing in front of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Iwaizumi says, “It’s been a year since that day. I think we can all agree that Kageyama is a valuable asset the Riders. And I think we all agree that we can trust him. Are there any disagreements?”

None of them have talked about whether they should let Kageyama join. They never had to. He could see it in the way Kindaichi and Kunimi laugh with him, and how on their last mission Hanamaki had called to Kageyama for help and Kageyama had followed through, and how Matsukawa told him about his noble father one night near the fire. They trusted him in all the ways you can trust a person.

Still, they all look to Oikawa, who rolls his eyes but says nothing. If Kageyama were just a boy that used a sword, or a lance, or even magic, Oikawa wouldn't be so antagonistic towards him. Oikawa acknowledges Kageyama's skill and if he hated the boy for anything else, for any other part of who he was, Oikawa would say he did not want him on the team. But it's his pride and competitive nature that make him dislike Kageyama, not anything about Kageyama himself.

“Then that’s that," Iwaizumi says. "Kageyama, welcome to the Riders."

Kageyama smiles widely, tilting his head down to hide it, and Iwaizumi can't help but smile too.

“Since it’s been a year since we met him,” Hanamaki says, raising his hand as if he has to ask permission to speak, “doesn’t that mean he would have had a birthday at some point?”

They look at Kageyama, who shifts awkwardly and murmurs, “I didn’t want to say anything.”

There’s a moment of silent stillness, then Matsukawa and Hanamaki make their move. They strip off their boots and shirts, moving in concert, before rushing towards Kageyama and wrestling him out of his boots, shirts, and pants. Then they have him by the arms and are running down the dock of the lake, stopping just before jumping in to throw him into the water.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki strip down entirely, completely naked, and jump into the water as Kageyama resurfaces, spluttering, and push his head back under. The second time Kageyama comes up, he’s laughing.

“C’mon!” Hanamaki shouts back to the others on the shore. “The water feels fucking fantastic.”

Iwaizumi wastes no time in joining them, stripping down to just his skin. The water is cool but warm at the same time, his body almost weightless as he bobs at the surface, legs kicking beneath the water. He laughs when Matsukawa splashes at him and before he knows it, Kindaichi and Kunimi are in the water too, hair pushed away from their smiling faces.

That left Oikawa alone on the shore.

“Your Grace!” Hanamaki calls in jest. “Join us!”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Matsukawa shouts with a grin.

Oikawa confidently begins to strip while Matsukawa whistles and Hanamaki waggles his eyebrows. Oikawa ignores them, taking off even his undergarments, leaving him completely bare. He wastes no time in sprinting down the dock and jumping into the water with them, laughing when he emerges.

Iwaizumi can’t resist the urge that comes over him. He swims towards him, their legs kicking in the water, and cups his face in his hands to bring him forward and kiss him. With lake water in their mouths, Oikawa kisses back, a smile curling across his face.

When they break apart, the world stands still, until Matsukawa splashes water their way and Hanamaki dunks Oikawa’s head underwater. Over where Kindaichi and Kunimi are, Kageyama laughs, but he doesn't seem surprised by what he just saw.

 

* * *

 

Winter comes once again and snow falls, and Iwaizumi wishes he could return to the warm lake in the south. Though they no longer hide Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s relationship from Kageyama, things are far from perfect.

As time passes and Kageyama’s skills increase, so does the tension between Oikawa and Kageyama. The young boy that once admired the prince is quickly catching up and it unsettles Oikawa, who is used to being the best at archery. Now, one of his own guards rivals his skill. There are several rumors that Kageyama may just be better, but Iwaizumi doesn’t know if Oikawa’s heard those and doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.

It’s not only Oikawa, though. Kageyama begins to out due the others as well in small things—riding his horse too fast, hurrying when there is no need to hurry, moving out of formation to take down an enemy that was not his to take down because someone else was “too slow.” He has this incredible need to prove himself. Iwaizumi doesn’t know where it comes from.

Now, they travel to a port to the southwest to meet and guide an important merchant to Seijoh. When it’s Kageyama’s turn to scout with Kindaichi and Kunimi, he leaves them behind, returning before the other two, who say nothing but don’t have to. Their dark looks are enough to show their irritation. The Riders seem irritated with Kageyama as often as they laugh with him.

As they travel, their beards grow in, even Kageyama’s, as sparse as it is. Matsukawa and Hanamaki tease Kageyama, who won’t meet Iwaizumi’s eyes when he asks him how to shave. Iwaizumi takes a morning to teach him to shave the stray hairs that dot his chin. When he is done, he goes to shave Oikawa.

When they’re home in Seijoh, a servant comes with a bowl of hot water and shaves Oikawa’s face every morning. Facial hair is a sign of masculinity and the king himself has a full beard, but Oikawa does not like the way he looks with one. When they travel, Iwaizumi is the one to shave the prince. Oikawa shaves less frequently when they travel, but still more than the other Riders.

At first, it was annoying to shave Oikawa and he nicked him frequently, but Oikawa insisted he learn, saying he did not trust anyone else to put a sharp blade so close to his throat. Then it was awkward, his eyes lingering on his lips and strong jaw, feelings growing but unrequited. Now, there is a comfortable familiarity in the moment, something almost sensual about the curve of Oikawa’s neck as he tilts his head back in complete trust.

When everything is set and ready, Iwaizumi and Oikawa sit on the pelts in their tent. As Iwaizumi spreads a layer of the white cream onto Oikawa’s face, Oikawa’s eyes watch him closely. Iwaizumi doesn’t mention that he just taught Kageyama to shave, somehow feeling that mentioning the boy would ruin whatever good mood Oikawa could have for the day.

His fingers gently tilt Oikawa’s head the way he wants it and Oikawa obeys, eyes closed with trust as Iwaizumi slowly drags the sharp razor along his jaw and throat. He does the area around his mouth more carefully than the rest, concentrated, his movements smooth and sure.

When Oikawa’s face is smooth, small patches of cream but no hair to be found, Oikawa reaches out towards Iwaizumi’s face.

“Will you be shaving your own face after?” Oikawa asks, his hand scratching along the thicker stubble coating Iwaizumi’s jaw. His palm rests there, unmoving, and Iwaizumi does not mind it.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Iwaizumi replies, rubbing his thumb over a clean patch of skin to see if there’s any sharp stubs left. Satisfied, he sets the blade aside. All that’s left is to wash Oikawa’s face clean. “We’re going to be traveling for two more days at this slow pace, at least. Might as well just wait until we reach the port. It’s annoying to do it every day.”

Oikawa hums in thought in a way that makes Iwaizumi go crazy. He never knows what will follow one of those hums. It’s usually nothing good, but on rare occasions, what follows is the better than anything he could ever imagine.

“It hurts my thighs, you know,” Oikawa says, hand still on his face.

Iwaizumi meets his eyes and grins slowly. “Are you saying you want my head between your thighs?”

Oikawa leans forward, lips ghosting against his, so close they touch but not quite a kiss. It lacks the intent to be called a kiss, more a tease than anything else, and it sends Iwaizumi’s blood rushing south. “It’s a possibility. Would you perhaps be interested in getting your head between my thighs?”

“It’s all I ever think about.” Oikawa smiles and Iwaizumi returns his tease with one of his own, a brush of the lips, a touch not a kiss. Oikawa’s eyes flick to Iwaizumi’s lips. “Do you want my mouth on your cock, or do you want me to eat you until your legs shake?”

“Fuck,” Oikawa gasps quietly, hand sliding from Iwaizumi’s scruffy jaw to his hair and twisting, pulling him in for a hard, desperate kiss.

The lingering shaving cream on Oikawa’s face smears against Iwaizumi’s chin and cheek, but Iwaizumi doesn’t care. All he cares about is pulling Oikawa into his lap, Oikawa’s legs wrapping around him and crossing at the ankle behind his back. He kisses him desperately, messy with it, the firm press of their tongues the best damn thing.

His hands roam Oikawa's sides and back, following the curves and contours of his body, unable to settle on just one part. With one hand in the middle of his back, the other comes to Oikawa's front, snaking under Oikawa's loose bed shirt to thumb at his nipple. Oikawa makes this noise, not quite a moan, more a pleasant sigh, but it's startlingly loud. 

“Off,” Iwaizumi demands, tugging at Oikawa’s shirt. Oikawa complies, relying on Iwaizumi’s hands to hold him steady at the hips as he strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side before all but attacking Iwaizumi, hands in his hair and lips on his, leaving Iwaizumi groaning like a lustful fool.

His hands slide quickly down Oikawa’s naked back to the waist of his loose sleep pants, lingering only for a moment before sliding underneath to cup him by the curve of his ass. Oikawa moans against his lips and arches his back, pressing his chest out towards him and his ass down into his hands. Iwaizumi wishes he had thought to take his own shirt off so he could feel Oikawa’s skin against his instead of just feeling his heat sinking through the fabric.

With one hand clamped on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, Oikawa’s other hand darts down between their bodies. Oikawa’s hand gropes and feels for Iwaizumi’s cock, finding it through his pants and prodding along the length until he finds the head. Iwaizumi’s hands knead into the flesh of Oikawa’s ass and Oikawa’s fingers press more firmly in return, both of them moaning more loudly than they should.

“You never answered,” Iwaizumi murmurs, moving his mouth to Oikawa’s neck, purposefully rubbing his rough beard against his sensitive skin. “Do you want me to suck your cock, or do you want me to eat you?”

But when he hears a voice, it does not belong to Oikawa.

“Prince Oikawa, Captain Iwaizumi?” Kageyama calls.

They freeze.

“Can I tell him to fuck off?” Oikawa asks quietly, almost pleading.

Iwaizumi gives him a look then calls out, “What is it?”

“May I come in?”

“Can I _please_ tell him to fuck off?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “You’re the godsdamn prince. If you want him to fuck off, tell him to fuck off. If not, get out of my lap.”

With an over dramatic sigh, Oikawa crawls out of Iwaizumi’s lap, sitting in front of him on the pelts. He leans back on his hands, half-hard cock hidden in the fabric of his pants. Iwaizumi hastily tugs a blanket over his own lap, his erection not so easily hidden.

“Come in,” Oikawa calls, voice slow and lazy, though his posture and expression reveal how annoyed he is.

Kageyama enters the tent, rigidly bowing at first then rising. “Prince Oikawa, Captain Iwaizumi, there’s eggs and elk sausage for breakfast.”

“And that’s all?” Oikawa prompts. “ _That’s_ why you bothered us?”

Kageyama shifts, turning red. “Um. Well. You see…”

“Stop fucking so we can pack your tent, Your Horny Highness!” Hanamaki calls from outside.

Iwaizumi sighs and rubs at his face, flushed with embarrassment. Even Oikawa turns a pretty shade of red, though Iwaizumi does not know if it is embarrassment or anger.

“Tell the others if they have so much free time to be listening in, then they should have the time to scout ahead,” Oikawa orders. He waves his hand. “Now shoo.”

Kageyama bows obediently and leaves. They can hear a roar of laughter when he emerges, Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s voices mixing.

“Have you noticed he’s become more competitive than normal?” Iwaizumi asks, eyes lingering where Kageyama just was. “Not just with you, but with the others.”

Oikawa frowns. “Is that really who you want to focus on?”

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa, surprised, because usually the mere mention of Kageyama is enough to take him out of the mood.

Maybe I should grow my beard more often, he thinks as he watches Oikawa’s legs slowly spread open. Iwaizumi crawls towards him, Oikawa watching him closely, and Iwaizumi settles on his stomach between Oikawa’s legs, head near his groin.

“Well?” Iwaizumi asks, tilting his head to kiss Oikawa’s inner thigh through his thin pants. “What do you want?”

One of Oikawa’s hands threads into his hair, tugging just barely, and when Iwaizumi looks up at him, Oikawa’s eyes are so damn dark they may as well be the night sky. “Start with my cock. We’ll go from there.”

Iwaizumi grins. “Yes, My Prince.”

Oikawa huffs in laughter and falls onto his back, waiting for Iwaizumi to follow through. And follow through he does.

 

* * *

 

Kageyama’s irritation and boldness only grows as the months pass. When Oikawa leads a morning hunt behind the castle, it is Kageyama that kills the animal they had been tracking all morning, leaving Iwaizumi to listen to Oikawa complain all day. At the end of a practice, Kageyama alone remains to keep practicing until he runs out of arrows to shoot, then goes to retrieve them and shoot again.

Kageyama complains about Kunimi the most, since he is the least physical of them all, his skills lying elsewhere—too slow, too lazy, not enough effort, Kageyama will say under his breath, or sometimes louder. Once, Kunimi’s hand goes tight around his staff and his eyes grow dangerous, and Iwaizumi thinks Kageyama does not truly understand just what it is Kunimi used to do before he joined the Riders. He has complaints for the others as well, but those are few and far between—how Matsukawa should not flirt when they are on a job, and how Hanamaki drinks too much when he has guard duty in a few hours.

Iwaizumi makes up his mind to talk to Kageyama about these things once they reach their next destination, the Eastern Fort. There is a new general, the other having retired, and Oikawa is to see how he is doing, what the soldiers honestly think of him, and how the town perceives them. That far away from the capital, the generals and soldiers of the Cardinal Forts are more visible than the royal family, and it’s important they behave in a way that reflects well on the king.

The sun has just begun to set, the sky a mix of pinks and purples, and Kunimi perks like a cat while the rest of them laugh around the campfire. Kindaichi is the first to notice the change in Kunimi’s behavior, then the others do too.

“Hear something?” Matsukawa asks, suddenly more serious.

Wordlessly, Kunimi stands, grabbing his staff, and points it towards the trees. With a simple spell, a viciously strong gust of wind knocks away the needles of the pine trees, stripping the trees bare and revealing a group of armed men. Five, no six of them.

“Weapons!” Iwaizumi orders, rising to his feet and drawing his sword.

They come from all sides, even from where Kunimi did not knock away their cover.

Oikawa goes low towards belongings, wanting his bow. A man thinks his back is open and comes in from behind, swinging his sword wildly, like that single blow would be enough to kill the prince. But Iwaizumi is there, their swords clashing with a ring, and Oikawa reaches his bow and quiver, burying an arrow into their head before they rise their sword for a second swing.

There’s twenty, thirty, maybe more. Are they rebels, or bandits? Do they want to take Oikawa ransom, or do they want him dead? Do they even know who they are attacking?

Only those that were to stay on guard tonight are still in their armor, the others stripped out of their heavy chest plates. They can’t afford to be careless. They need to stay together and watch each other’s backs. Losing even one of them is not something they can afford. If just one of them falls, the others may overwhelm them and take Oikawa.

Out of the corner of Iwaizumi’s eye, he sees ten or so men escape back into the forest while the other twenty remain.

“Kunimi, Kindaichi, Kageyama, follow them and make sure they don’t bring back any others,” Iwaizumi orders, pointing his sword in the proper direction before turning his back and slicing down a man.

He trusts the three go where they were told. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, and Iwaizumi loosely circle Oikawa, who keeps an arrow nocked as he turns, looking for any archers as the others take care of those that dare to get close to him.

The enemy is in a hurry, their ambush partly foiled, while Iwaizumi is patient. He can’t afford to rush when the only armor he has on is his vambraces and greaves. He blocks blow after blow, waiting for his chance to strike. And when that chance comes, he takes it without hesitation, slicing down opponent after opponent until less than ten men remain at the campsite.

“Captain, _help_!” Kunimi cries out, his voice a loud, booming echo, enhanced in volume by magic. Iwaizumi wonders if he’s ever heard Kunimi sound like this before. Kunimi is always so reserved. Moments of extreme emotion are rare.

Horror. Horror like Iwaizumi has never heard from one of his Riders.

Iwaizumi looks around, determining if he can leave Oikawa in these circumstances. There are less than ten enemies now, and they all look weary to attack. Deciding he can leave, he looks over his shoulder at Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who are already closing in closer to Oikawa to protect him in Iwaizumi’s absence. Last, he looks at Oikawa, who appears unafraid, arrow nocked but bow undrawn.

“Come back alive,” Oikawa orders sternly.

Iwaizumi nods and runs off towards Kunimi, Kindaichi, and Kageyama. The trees whirl past him and the snow crunches beneath his feet. He can see stray arrows buried in trees and bodies with arrows in the back of their necks. He follows the trails through the snow, follows the blood and arrows and bodies.

In a clearing, he finds five more bodies. There are deep cuts through their armor, bones and muscle and sinew startlingly visible, cuts a sword would never be able to make. It had to be Kunimi who ripped them apart with his magic, but he’s never seen Kunimi produce such volatile magic. His magic is meant to incapacitate to allow Kageyama and Kindaichi to attack, not to cut so deep into their chest Iwaizumi could see their ribs if there wasn’t so much blood in the way. This is the magic he used before when he was an assassin.

Iwaizumi kneels down next to one man with a cut so deep in his neck, his heard was nearly severed. He looks around, panicking, wondering what the hell happened, what happened to drive Kunimi to this kind of carnage.

He's about to call out when he sees Kunimi kneeling twenty feet ahead of him. Kunimi is on the ground, staff at his side. He leans over Kindaichi, who lies on his side in the snow.

The red snow.

_Fuck._

Iwaizumi drops to his knees next to Kunimi, whose hands are covered in slick, dark red blood. His hands press hard against Kindaichi’s side where his tunic is ripped and stained. The wound is on his back below his ribs, like someone came up from behind him.

If only he had his armor, Iwaizumi thinks. Kindaichi wasn't meant to be on guard duty tonight. It's my fault for letting them relax, he thinks.

“How deep?” Iwaizumi asks.

“I can stick my fingers inside.”

“What happened?”

“Yuu went through this guy with his sword. He went down so Yuu turned to face the next one, but the bandit got back up. He pulled a dagger. I tried to warn him, but I couldn’t because I was casting a spell and you can’t just stop once you start and—”

He’s never heard Kunimi ramble like this. He’s usually so composed, even in the worst situations.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi grabs Kunimi’s shaking wrist. “You did good. Where’s Kageyama?”

Kunimi’s jaw clenches. He shakes his head and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what the hell that means, but it makes his stomach sink.

Iwaizumi moves Kunimi’s hands aside, assessing the wound. He finds a hole where his side turns into his back at his lower ribs. He sticks a finger in, testing how deep it is, and Kindaichi groans. He can just barely feel the end of the wound; it isn’t too deep. Probably just a short carving dagger the enemy used to carve wood in his spare time, not the type of dagger a proper knight would have.

The issue is, he’s been losing blood this whole time. From the time he was stabbed and the time it took for Kunimi to slaughter every enemy in sight and the time it took Iwaizumi to run here. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how deeply his blood has soaked the snow, but it looks like quite a bit. Even then a little wound like this shouldn’t bleed this much…

He pulls his finger out and feels something else. He feels with his fingers and presses at another hole, then other, and curses.

“He stabbed him multiple times, that’s why there’s so much fucking blood. Doesn’t look like it hit any major organs but I’m not a fucking medic.”

Iwaizumi takes off his cloak and hands it to Kunimi, who quickly balls it up and puts it under his hands to help soak up the blood and put pressure to the wounds.

Iwaizumi moves in the snow and leans over Kindaichi’s face. He pinches his cheek hard and Kindaichi’s eyes flutter open.

“Cap’n,” he murmurs, teeth chattering as he shakes in shock. “’rry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Keep your eyes open, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. Count the branches on the trees. Out loud.”

“One,” Kindaichi starts, jaw jerking so much he can hardly speak. His eyes threaten to close but remain open. “Two…”

Iwaizumi curses. “We need to get him back to the tent and strip him to see the wound better. Watch my back.”

Iwaizumi moves to Kindaichi’s other side, takes the balled-up cloak from Kunimi, and moves fast. With one arm under his knees and the other curled around his back to maintain the pressure of his hand against the wound, he lifts Kindaichi up.

Kunimi grabs his staff and they run.

They head back to camp as fast as they can, sprinting until the muscles in their legs scream, fueled by adrenaline and panic. Kunimi’s looking around for enemies one second then towards Kindaichi, who groans and mutters, “Trees’re movin’ too fast, Cap’n. Can’t count ‘em. Since when do trees move?”

“Keep trying,” Iwaizumi tells him, not daring to look down at him and see his paling face.

He can feel his blood soaking through the cloth, can feel it dripping down his fingers into the snow. It might be more than three wounds. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know.

They run into the camp past several bodies that weren’t there when Iwaizumi left and see Matsukawa and Hanamaki guarding Oikawa. There are no visible enemies, but they haven’t let their guard down yet.

“Oh, fuck,” Matsukawa curses when he sees Iwaizumi approach. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Where’s Tobio?” Hanamaki asks. “Is he—"

“Tooru, help me in the tent,” Iwaizumi cuts in. He looks to Kunimi. “Do you know any healing magic?” Kunimi nods. “Then come with us. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, guard this tent with your lives.”

Oikawa is already inside, holding open the curtains that make up the entrance. Iwaizumi rushes in, Kunimi behind him.

They lay Kindaichi down on his side on Oikawa’s pelts, keeping pressure on the wound while Oikawa uses the dagger Iwaizumi gave him when he came of age to cut away his tunic.

The sight rips something inside of Iwaizumi. He gave that dagger to protect Oikawa, who now uses it to help a kid that may have just given his life to him. Why the fuck did Iwaizumi bring kids into this? It’s because he was a kid when he was made a knight. He thought everyone could be like him. He was wrong. He was fucking wrong and Kindaichi may die because he was stupid enough to think that.

With the tunic cut away, Oikawa stands to get a bowl of water.

“What do you know?” Iwaizumi asks, looking meaningfully at Kunimi.

“Nicks, burns, things like that. I’ve never been able to do the higher-level spells. Elemental mages can never do healing magic.”

“But you do know them?”

Oikawa kneels next to Iwaizumi, running a damp cloth around Kindaichi’s bare skin to wipe away some of the blood so they can see the wounds better. Iwaizumi moves away his bunched-up cloak and Oikawa wipes at the wounds. Blood leaks from the small, sharp cuts just beneath Kindaichi’s ribs. Iwaizumi puts pressure back on immediately after Oikawa moves to wipe down another area.

Then Oikawa leans over Kindaichi’s face. Kindaichi’s eyes look up at him, swerving from side to side, unable to focus, before settling on Oikawa’s face.

“‘m scared,” Kindaichi whines. “It hurts and I’m scared.”

“We’ll get you some poppy milk to make sure it doesn’t hurt,” Iwaizumi says, but no one can move to get it now. It’ll have to wait another second.

“Keep looking at me,” Oikawa orders, voice calm and steady even with blood Kindaichi’s on his hands. “We’re going to get through this, but only if you keep fighting. Can you do that for me?”

Kindaichi nods.

“Say it properly.”

“Yes, M’ Lord.”

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes trained on Kunimi, who clutches his staff and looks at Kindaichi with a wide-eyed stare.

“Kunimi, listen to me,” Iwaizumi orders. “You can do this.”

Kunimi looks to Oikawa, then Iwaizumi. “What if I can’t?”

“Then Oikawa and I stitch the wounds and hopefully, he isn’t bleeding too bad inside. The wounds don’t seem deep, but he’s lost a lot of blood already.” Iwaizumi reaches over and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly. “Akira. You can do this.”

Kunimi meets his eyes and nods.

He kneels in front of Kindaichi, who’s eyes track him, leaving Oikawa’s face.

“’re so pretty, ‘kira” Kindaichi says, voice slurred.

Kunimi holds his staff over Kindaichi’s body and chants, “Gestrice þá dolg, belūce—” Kunimi stops suddenly, gagging at the backlash from it, takes a breath, closes his eyes, and starts again, “Gestrice þá dolg, belūce þá braed, bredan þá ædre.”

Iwaizumi moves away the cloak to see if anything is happening. Nothing.

Again, he repeats it, clutching his staff so tightly his knuckles are white. “Gestrice þá dolg, belūce þá braed, bredan þá ædre!”

He still does not see any change and prepares to put the cloak back over the wounds, to tell Oikawa to get the supplies for sutures and poppy milk so it doesn’t hurt when he goes if they’re too late to save him.

But then, the skin of the wounds slowly begins to stitch itself back together with flesh and blood. Oikawa smiles and throws an arm around Kunimi, who opens his eyes and watches as Kindaichi’s wounds close on themselves. They are still open towards the entrance, but deep down, the flesh stitches together.

The wounds are not healed, but they are better than they had been a moment ago. Kindaichi’s chances were better than they had been a moment ago.

Kunimi sags against Oikawa. Iwaizumi sits back, dropping the bloodied cloak to the ground, and lets out a long breath as well.

He regains himself quickly. There’s still work to do.

Kindaichi isn’t out of the woods yet.

 

* * *

 

Nearly an hour passes before Kageyama returns. Matsukawa and Hanamaki sit outside the tent, standing guard, their own minor wounds tended to and the bodies piled to the side to be burned. From inside the tent, Iwaizumi can hear them chatting, but they go silent when Kageyama approaches.

“Where the hell have you been?” Iwaizumi hears Matsukawa ask, a sharp, angry edge to his voice.

Inside the tent, Iwaizumi stands, shaking his head at Oikawa to stop him from following for now, and walks outside to meet Kageyama in the snow.

“I got lost on my way back,” Kageyama admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “No one came looking for me and… Where’re Akira and Yuutarou? Where’s Prince Oikawa?”

“In the tent,” Matsukawa says. “Go on, go in and see.”

“You don’t want to go into that tent right now,” Iwaizumi tells Kageyama.

Kageyama frowns. “Why not? Is Prince Oikawa naked? I’ve seen him naked, Captain.”

Hanamaki grips the length of his lance. Iwaizumi holds out his hand, stopping his anger before it manifests.

“Tobio ran ahead,” Kunimi had told them while they all sat around an unconscious Kindaichi, his wounds sutured and treated with salves, his chest wrapped tight in bandages. “We couldn’t keep up. He yelled at us for being slow. He left us, surrounded, to chase after someone. He left us behind to chase after one single person. And Yuu nearly died because of it.”

Iwaizumi does not know how to face Kageyama after hearing what had happened. Leaving your brothers in arms to chase after your own prey is not something that can be forgiven. Kageyama’s actions put them all at risk, put _Oikawa_ at risk.

Kageyama, Kindaichi, and Kunimi were the outer guard. If they fell, if they failed, the inner guard would have been overwhelmed and Oikawa would have been at risk. Kageyama forgot why the Riders existed. It is not to fight aimlessly. It is not to prove your skill. It is to protect the prince.

Still, he’s just a kid who didn’t understand his purpose, his role, and Iwaizumi cannot hate him no matter how badly he wants to.

“No!” Matsukawa snaps. “Let him see what he did!”

Kageyama pinches his eyebrows together. “What I did…?”

Matsukawa shoves Kageyama towards the entrance to the tent, right past Iwaizumi, who shakes his head in disapproval. But he does not stop Matsukawa when he puts an arm around Kageyama’s shoulder and guides him inside, pointing to Kindaichi, who lies on the floor of the tent, Oikawa and Kunimi sitting by his side.

“Four stab wounds,” Matsukawa says, not letting Kageyama duck away from his arm and run away. “Right in the back. Because of _you_.”

“He’s a fucking kid,” Iwaizumi hisses, finally pulling Matsukawa’s arm off of Kageyama.

“You were a kid when you were knighted,” Matsukawa points out. “Yuutarou was a kid, too, when you dragged him to the castle to train him like the rest of us. Hell, Akira was fourteen when you met him and he was an _assassin_. They were all fucking kids and they understood! They never betrayed the Riders. They never put Oikawa’s life in danger. They—”

“Are not Kageyama!” Iwaizumi snaps back. “Some people can handle it.”

“And he. Fucking. Couldn’t.” Matsukawa shakes his head with disgust. “I’m with Akira. I want him gone.”

“I—” Kageyama begins, but stops. “I didn’t think—"

Iwaizumi grabs Matsukawa by the shoulder and turns him towards the entrance, pushing him out. He doesn’t challenge Iwaizumi and come back inside.

“Is he…?” Kageyama asks, pale and shaking.

“Alive,” Iwaizumi confirms. “Unconscious and really doped up with poppy milk, but alive.”

Kageyama looks at Oikawa, who still hasn’t looked over at Kageyama.

“Prince Oikawa, I didn’t mean for him to get hurt. I was trying to take someone down and—”

“This is not a conversation to have now,” Oikawa cuts in, his voice tight, like he too wants to yell. “Important decisions should not be made when you’re upset. That’s what my father always tells me.”

“You’re upset with me?” Kageyama asks dumbly.

Oikawa stands suddenly and charges towards Kageyama, who freezes in shock. Iwaizumi steps between them, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s middle and stopping him from throwing his fist into Kageyama’s face.

“I’m furious!” Oikawa shouts, spitting at the mouth. “I have my stubborn, worthless pride too, you know, but I never let it hurt someone else. If you have any pride, let it be your own downfall, not the downfall of others!”

“Calm down,” Iwaizumi snaps. Oikawa stills, but his chest is heaving, fists still balled at his side, a rare ugly expression on his face. Iwaizumi turns to Kageyama and as gentle as he can manage, says, “Go.”

Kageyama tilts his head forward and leaves without another word.

 

* * *

 

Kindaichi wakes in the morning and when they tell him why his stomach is wrapped in bandages, he says nothing about Kageyama. He only asks to see the others. Matsukawa and Hanamaki hug him until he's wincing and Kunimi just stares at him, like he may just disappear if he so much as blinks. Iwaizumi claps him on the shoulder. That left Oikawa, who stayed silent until the others were done.

"Prince Oikawa," Kindaichi says and it's strange to hear him call Oikawa by that title.

Oikawa smiles warmly, though there is a forced edge to it like he is hiding something unpleasant, some fear. "Thank you."

Kindaichi frowns, not seeming to understand what Oikawa means, but the rest of them understand. Thank you for standing your ground. Thank you for almost dying for me. Iwaizumi wonders if Kindaichi ever figured out just what Oikawa meant.

They ride slow to the Eastern Fort, not wanting to injury Kindaichi further. Kageyama remains quiet, the others only talking to him when they must to delegate duties like hunting or collecting firewood. Kageyama is never asked to scout out, an important safety measure, and he is never asked to take up the rear, the most vulnerable position. The trust is gone, the camaraderie too, and they can all feel it.

He's just a kid, Iwaizumi thinks during their trip to the Eastern Fort. He's just a kid who was too eager and forgot. But it does not matter that he's a kid. They are not a showy team of knights at a competition vying for the king's attention. They are the men Oikawa has entrusted his life too. If that is not on the forefront of your mind, on matter your age, it does not matter how skillful you are.

It isn't until they return to Seijoh that Iwaizumi is forced to deal with the hard reality that the others will no longer accept Kageyama as a Rider. They don't talk about it. It seems there's some expectation that Iwaizumi and Oikawa will handle it, but they haven't spoken of it either until Iwaizumi finds himself following Oikawa towards the room Kageyama shares with Kunimi and Kindaichi.

"Are you just going to cast him out?" Iwaizumi asks, hands tight at his sides. "He's a kid."

Oikawa gives him a look. "I'm not that cruel."

"You never liked him."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to leave him on his own without the means to get by. He'll keep his horse, and his bow, and I've arranged for a bag for him. He'll have enough money to go wherever he wants. I don't care where he goes, as long as it's not Seijoh."

They stop just in front of the door, neither moving, the only sound their breath.

"Do you think I'm enjoying this?" Oikawa asks quietly.

Oikawa taught Kageyama to hunt, Iwaizumi thinks. He taught him to set a snare and track an elk. He ensured his bow and thumb ring were the same quality as his. He gave him a horse from his prized line just as he had with all the other Riders.

"No," Iwaizumi replies.

"It has to be done, Hajime."

"I know."

Oikawa reaches for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More facts:
> 
> \-- I reached a point when writing this chapter and it was already 10k long and I knew I had to cut a lot out. Kageyama is with the Riders for almost two years, including that first trial year. Hopefully this backstory leaves people satisfied? I never expected people to care so much about his backstory tbh and I hope it lives up to expectations.  
> \-- The only other flashback with Oikawa and Kageyama is in "Shiratorizawa" which takes place very shortly after Kageyama joins the Riders on a temporary basis.  
> \-- The first mentions of Oikawa's house words is back in "Fukurodani" where Iwaizumi asks if Kageyama understands what to do during a fight and Kageyama replies "Until it Breaks." Iwaizumi's house words are shamelessly taken from Game of Thrones. The only other house words shared in the fic are Michimiya's which are "Take to the Skies."  
> \-- I wanted Kageyama to do something worth being kicked off the Riders to parallel being kicked off Kitagawa. I thought of Kindaichi maybe losing an arm, but I didn't want to get that gritty. So I just made him badly injured. (Also, by the time I thought of Kindaichi losing an arm, I'd already written a lot with Kindaichi and didn't want to go back and re-write it.)


	31. The Riders III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last time, ages:
> 
> Oikawa: 25  
> Iwaizumi: 25  
> Matsukawa: 28  
> Hanamaki: 27  
> Kindaichi: 22  
> Kunimi: 21

Iwaizumi is not with Oikawa when the prince is given the news.

Iwaizumi does not hear until he and his fellow knights return from their patrol of the border two days later. By then, the flames outside the castle have been smothered and the city of Seijoh is in mourning. People bring gifts to the castle, laying them on the front steps until they’re so cluttered by flowers, gems, coins, cloth, and other odd trinkets that no one can walk on the stairs.

Iwaizumi and the knights know by the sight of the ash in the fire pits and the gifts on the steps that someone in the royal family has died. They whisper immediately, discussing, worrying, wondering why they weren't given the news during their patrol. How long had it been? They think it may be Oikawa’s sister, or perhaps her son, Takeru, who had been sick before the knights left. For a horrible moment, Iwaizumi wonders if it is Oikawa, the kingdom’s beloved prince, _his_ beloved prince, but his fear is for naught. 

The king is dead.

An accident, they say, with no reason to believe otherwise. He slipped and fell down the steps, breaking his neck, and half the council saw it happen, including Kuroo. There was no great battle, no struggle with a lethal assassin, no pestilence that claimed him. He broke his neck, and his lungs stopped, and his heart stopped, and he was dead. It was a boring death, nothing like Iwaizumi imagined for the warrior king of Aobajousai.

Gods, Tooru, Iwaizumi thinks as he sprints through the castle in search of the prince. For two days, Oikawa has been grieving by himself. For two days, Iwaizumi has been gone, when he should have been by Oikawa’s side. He’s never going to forgive himself for being gone when Oikawa needed him most.

Oikawa is not in his chambers, not in the banquet hall where the council is meeting to discuss funeral arrangements and Oikawa’s coronation, not anywhere inside the stone walls. Iwaizumi does not even think before he is rushing outside behind the castle, through the forest, desperate to find him, ignorant to everything else. 

The coniferous trees of the forest are the only green in the harsh winter of the north. They block the cobblestone path from snow and trap some heat, but also block the sun. The only clearing is near the sacred pond. It’s there, crouched in the snow at the edge of the pond, that he finds Oikawa. He wears black robes in mourning, his head tilted down in prayer, the silver crown marking him as the crown prince present though it won't be for long. By the end of the week, he will wear the crown of the king.

“Tooru,” he pants, coming to a stop a few feet behind him.

Oikawa lifts his head so quickly Iwaizumi fears he may break his neck like his father. But he does not, turning his head and scrambling to his feet at the sight of his knight. Oikawa hurries towards him and Iwaizumi runs forward to meet him, their bodies colliding with desperation instead of gently embracing, and Iwaizumi throws his arms around Oikawa without thinking. 

When he does think, Iwaizumi looks into the shadows and sees several members of the Royal Guard standing amongst the trees, their faces stern. They no longer watch over the dead king. They watch over Oikawa, following his every move, ensuring no harm will come to him.

“Tooru, there are—"

“Let them see,” Oikawa says quietly. “I swear I won’t do this again. Just for this moment, Hajime. Just this once, let them see.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi replies just as quietly, rubbing his hands up and down Oikawa’s back. “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

“Since dawn. I was praying.” Oikawa buries his face into Iwaizumi’s neck and wraps his arms around his waist, holding him close. Iwaizumi presses his face into Oikawa’s hair and breathes in his scent and the smell of snow. “Where have you been?”

“Patrolling the southern border with the knights. You know that."

“You should have been here.” Oikawa squeezes tighter, but he can’t hold Iwaizumi any closer. Quiet as a breath, the words only for him, “You belong by my side.”

“I know.”

“Don’t ever leave again.”

“I won’t. Never again." Then, Oikawa's stomach rumbles, and Iwaizumi is torn between smiling and frowning in concern, unsure what his face decides on. "Have you eaten?”

“I’m famished,” Oikawa admits. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

Iwaizumi moves to pull away, but Oikawa does not move.

“Just a moment longer,” Oikawa pleads. “Everyone else is so careful with me, like they think I may break. Kuroo’s the only member of the council that will listen to me. The rest think I’m acting like some hysterical woman every time I voice my opinion. I said to wrap my father in the pelt of the snow leopard he slew as a child, his first true kill, but they thought the skin of that boar would be more appropriate. Killed in revenge, they said, a fine symbol of a man.”

Oikawa shakes his head in disgust. “As if my father wants to meet the gods in the skin of the animal that killed his best friend.”

Iwaizumi does not flinch at the mention of his father’s death. That was so many years ago, the wounds old and healed. Oikawa’s wounds are still fresh.

“The snow leopard is a good choice,” Iwaizumi agrees, rubbing a hand up and down Oikawa’s back. “It’s a gorgeous pelt.”

“Kuroo convinced them as much.”

“Good.” Iwaizumi stills his hand on Oikawa’s lower back, but still rubs his thumb, though he’s not sure Oikawa can feel it through his many layers. “Let’s go inside, get some food. I can tell you about our patrol.”

Oikawa nods.

 

* * *

 

Iwaizumi manages to convince the Royal Guard to stand outside the kitchen as Iwaizumi fixes Oikawa something to eat. The ladies in the kitchen help him find what he needs, insisting they do it instead, but Iwaizumi insists even more, though he does accept their help in the end because he can only cook around a campfire. 

When Oikawa falls asleep after a cup of hot tea and sweet bread with berries, Iwaizumi has to carry him to his chambers from the kitchens. They walk the long way, avoiding as many people as possible. None of the council sees him, only a few servants, who lower their heads and keep walking.

“He has not been eating, despite our protests,” one of the Royal Guards says as they trail Iwaizumi. 

“You have to knock some sense into him, then,” Iwaizumi replies, careful not to move Oikawa too much and wake him.

“Only you are allowed to do that, Sir Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi looks at them. He wonders how long it will take them to find out his relationship with the man in his arms, if they don’t know already. He wonders if it’s a secret they can keep. He thinks back to that day all those years ago when Oikawa said he could not really trust these men, and Iwaizumi finally, truly understands.

Two members of the Royal Guard stand outside Oikawa’s room while Iwaizumi sees him to bed. He lays Oikawa in his large plush bed, pulls the covers over his body, and places a dry kiss to his forehead, letting his lips linger. He makes sure there are extra logs in the fire to keep him warm, checks that the windows are not letting in cold air, and leaves.

“You better watch him,” Iwaizumi says as he walks past the well decorated guards.

He does not know these guards well. He does not trust Oikawa to them.

But there are men he trusts Oikawa’s life to.

When he makes it back to his chambers, he finds his room is occupied. Hanamaki is sprawled out on his bed, Matsukawa is going through his chest of drawers like it’s his own, and Kindaichi and Kunimi are on the ground playing some sort of game with glass marbles to pass the time.

“Heard you got back,” Hanamaki says. “We figured you’d want to talk.”

“Akira picked the locked,” Matsukawa adds, jerking his thumb towards the youngest of them. “Ex-assassin and all that.”

Iwaizumi walks inside and closes the door behind him.

“I lost a bet, you know,” Matsukawa says, digging through his pocket for a few bronze coins. He walks over to the bed and places them in Hanamaki’s palm. Hanamaki grins widely. “Thought you might be spending the night in his chambers, comforting him and what not. Guess not.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “He was exhausted. He passed out in the kitchens. He always pushes himself way too far.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“We’ve been trying to get him to eat,” Kindaichi says quietly. “He doesn’t listen to us the way he listens to you.”

“It’s not your job to take care of him like that,” Iwaizumi replies.

“Isn’t it?” Hanamaki asks lightly, skepticism in his voice.

Iwaizumi rubs at his face, exhausted to the bone. “I don’t fucking know anymore. But you don’t have to worry about that in the future. I won’t be going anywhere anymore. From here on out, I can’t leave his side.”

“Because he’s going to be the king, or because you don’t want to?” Kunimi asks.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Both?”

He looks at them and sees they are dressed well enough to go outside.

“We’re going to the pond—there’s something we need to do,” he says and they do no question him, following him silently through the halls of the castle and outside into the cold.

He takes them to the place where he found Oikawa earlier that night, to the place where Oikawa’s father will be buried, his body sunk down into the icy depths. He takes them to the place where Iwaizumi took his own oath ten years ago.

They stand in front of Iwaizumi, their captain, shoulder to shoulder, no sign of the cold showing on their faces, except for perhaps their noses, tinged red.

He meets their gaze, each of them, and almost expects to see Kageyama standing next to Kindaichi at the end of their line. He still sees that boy’s shadow, still wonders what could have been. He wonders where he is now, if he is even alive.

“You’re not knights. I never expected you to be. And I never asked you to make an oath. I didn’t think you needed to say some silly words to understand why you do what you do. You’ve seen what happens to those who do not understand the mission, who do not understand the reason for your years of training.”

He looks across the line again. He has trained these men, fought with them, bled with them, laughed with them, lost with them.

“But things have changed. Oikawa is no longer a prince. He’ll be king by the end of the week and he’ll be in more danger than ever. Now, more than ever, you will be needed. I’ve watched you over the years, made sure you would answer to him, made sure you would give your life for him if you had to. You have proved yourselves time and time again and I trust you— _all_ of you.”

He looks pointedly at Kunimi, who meets his eyes.

“Will you take an oath, after all this time?” Iwaizumi asks, not sure what the answer will be.

“Like you even need to ask,” Hanamaki says with a grin.

Iwaizumi smiles for just a moment, then remembers that he is asking these men to sign their lives away. These men will surely die to protect Oikawa one day. Maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe in ten, thirty, fifty. But they will die. This is not something to be proud of.

“Then take a knee.”

They drop, obedient. Determined. Resolved.

Iwaizumi does not know what they should swear on. He is not good with words, not like Oikawa, and oaths come with ceremonies and those participating have specific replies. The oath Iwaizumi took when he became a knight was something he recited over and over before bed, practicing it, memorizing it, etching it into his very being. Now, he does not know who he would be if not a knight of Aobajousai, if he was not Oikawa’s knight.

These four men are not taking the oath of a knight. They belong to Oikawa, not the kingdom, not the gods. They belong to Oikawa, as Iwaizumi belongs to him.

“Until it Breaks,” Iwaizumi says, without thinking it through, but the words feel right. “Those are the words of House Oikawa. Do not defeat the enemy, break the enemy. Fight until the sword in your hand breaks and then fight until your bones break. Never give up, never surrender.”

Iwaizumi looks at them and they look back.

“You have shown your dedication, but now you must take an oath. You must say that which has gone unspoken. You must swear your loyalty to King Oikawa Tooru of House Oikawa. Speak the words of his house and never forget them. Swear to protect him with those words."

“Until it Breaks,” Matsukawa swears.

“Until it Breaks,” Hanamaki swears.

“Until it Breaks,” Kunimi swears.

“Until it Breaks,” Kindaichi swears.

“Rise, Riders of Aobajousai, and do not fall until you break.”

Together, they rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings us right up before the flashbacks of Oikawa's coronation in "The Grand King" followed by Oikawa's possession in "Descent" and then Iwaizumi's prison escape in the prologue "Hope."
> 
> And once again, I want to thank everyone for the support up until this point--kudos, comments, even just people that are silently waiting for updates. I'm getting very, very close to finishing this fic and your support makes me very glad I posted this before it was 100% finished.


End file.
